


It's Not Goodbye

by mssrj_335



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Bad Flirting, Based on some Actual American Bullshit ™, Desperate times call for desperate measures, Dog BB-8, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Government Conspiracy, Government Experimentation, Happy Ending, Inspired by Music, Inspired by The X-Files, Intrigue, M/M, Major Character Injury, Modern Era, Modern as in it's set in the 1970s, Musical References, Mystery, POV Alternating, Pseudo-History, Rescue Missions, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Some Cheesiness, Some Plot, The FinnPoe Sync ™, This writer is a lover of soft morning ends, and you can pry them from my undead hands bois, drug-induced amnesia, questionable science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24383572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: Based (loosely) on a prompt from finnpoe-wizard on tumblr:Finn is an ex-soldier on a solo motorcycle trip across America. Poe is the mechanic in a small desert town. Poe wants to keep his secrets and Finn is running from something--or toward it--and the part for his bike is going to take at least a week to come in.What starts as a quick stop and awkward flirt devolves into a conspiratorial intrigue of a very personal nature. Lights in the desert, headaches and vague memories all point Finn to something that has Poe tied in knots. He just has no idea how far that something will take him.Complete
Relationships: Finn/Poe Dameron, Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 100
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the usual disclaimers apply  
> self-edited, per ushe  
> many thanks to gmariam (gmariam 19) for the feedback and to finnpoe-wizard for letting me take a crack at this idea! 
> 
> work is complete and will be posted in parts

If _No Sugar Tonight_ is on at eight in the morning, it's going to be a good day. Poe shimmies across the shop, digging out the tools he needs. There's a cool, stiff breeze blowing through the garage, carrying the music out the back door. Good music always makes for a good day, and Poe's definitely got a long day ahead. He digs deep in the Chevy's guts, wrench clenched in his teeth as he mumbles along, feeling for the bolt he needs. He nods, tapping his toes while he loosens the starter solenoid. It's not until he gets the part out, whipping in a circle and shouting the chorus, does he see he's got company.

Hot company--literally and figuratively--struggling through the garage door, pushing maroon-tone Honda by the handlebars and sweating his ass off despite the fall chill. Poe scrambles for the volume. He shoots BB-8 a dirty look but the dog just lolls his head amicably, sniffing but not bothering to get up from his bed.

"Hey, sorry about that!" Poe calls, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Don’t usually have anyone out this early.”

Poe gives the man a broad smile, just because he likes what he sees. He’s dressed simply, black shirt and dark fitted jeans, but combined with the leather boots and aviators, he’s not exactly an eyesore. Sweat shines on his dark skin, and as he pulls his shirt up to wipe at his face, Poe gets caught up in the line of dark hair trailing to his waistband. The guy looks exhausted, like he’s already run a marathon, but he slides off the shades and smiles back a bit.

“I didn’t think I’d be here this early either,” he says, flipping down the kickstand and putting his hands on his hips in a defeated kind of way.

“So what’s the word?” Poe gulps. Damn, even defeated the dude has an attractive energy, charming in his chagrin.

“Think something fried the points. It was the weirdest thing...”

He trails off but Poe’s attention is piqued. 

“Yeah?”

The guy seems to shake himself a bit. “She’s practically new, a ‘73 model. Never had a problem before, everything checked out ok when I left Artesia. About five miles outta town, she bit it. One minute, we’re running’ along fine, then next...” He pauses, like he’s not sure what to say and Poe’s dying to know. “Well, the next I’m almost in the ditch and the engine’s dead.”

The way he says it puts Poe on the trail. Maybe it’s another one for the book?

“Five miles?” he muses. “That’s a helluva long way to push a bike. You come by Walker Air Base?”

The man gets a far-off look in his intense, dark eyes and for a second it’s like he’s forgotten what planet he’s on. Oh yeah, Poe’s seen that space cadet look before and it’s never good.

“Yeah...”

There it is. Definitely one for the book, and this poor bastard’s deep in it. All right, tonight’s plans are changed. Poe smoothes any sort of interest from his face and grabs a Phillips screwdriver. There’ll be time to check out his story, no sense in freaking the guy out.

“All right then...” he prompts, asking for a name with his eyebrow.

“Finn.”

“Finn,” he smiles, “let’s see if you’re right.”

Poe’s not a motorcycle specialist by any means, but he knows the basics. Helping Snap rebuild one definitely gave him some sort of knowledge. BB-8 finally gets up and trots to his side, helpfully inspecting Finn’s bike before inspecting the man himself. Luckily, Finn doesn’t seem put off by the short red Retriever and, with a twist, Poe unscrews the points cover. When he sees the inside, he has to blink a couple times. 

“Damn, you weren’t kidding. These babies aren’t just fried, they’re full on cooked.”

He’s not surprised, he’s just never seen it this bad. Finn crouches next to him easily, sighing gustily and patting BB-8’s head. The points—contact breaker points—time the engine to release fuel. Usually, they’re shiny and brassy and clean, rocking back and forth to complete a circuit in the engine, fractions of a millimeter separating them. These though, these are filthy. The metal is cracked and corroded, covered in something black and vaguely sticky, like some sort of sludge is painted on the inside of the cover. On a hunch, Poe fumbles for a larger socket wrench and pulls out a spark plug. As he suspects, more of the mess shows up, coating the ends in a fine, sticky layer.

With all that there, it’s no wonder the engine quit. Poe’s seen this before. In fact, it’s part of what he’s working on now with the Chevy starter. But he keeps that to himself, because this kind of thing only arrives with fishy circumstances. Definitely one to add to his book when he gets the chance. He glances at Finn. The look of consternation on his face is all too familiar.

“I don’t understand,” Finn murmurs. “There’s no way all this should be in there. There’s no oil leak, where the hell did all this come from?”

Poe shifts in his crouch a bit and offers Finn a sympathetic shrug. “Couldn’t say,” he says. It’s not exactly a lie but it sure feels like one. “But I know a guy in Albuquerque that should have the part. Why don’t you hang tight and I’ll make a phone call?”

Finn blows a breath out his nose but nods. Shouldn’t take too long to fix.

—

“So, this is gonna take a while to fix.”

He’s been calling around for the better part of two hours and that’s all the news he’s managed to get. Yeah, his uncle L’ulo should’ve had the part. In fact, he did at one point. But, he’d forgotten it on the last inventory and sold out. Kes didn’t have it at his shop either, but that’s less surprising. That aside, “I called a few more, nobody seems to have the part. The best I can do is put one on order, have it here in about a week.”

Poe stands in the garage waiting room across from Finn, who puts his hands on his hips again and shakes his head.

“There no parts store around here?”

Poe shrugs. “Welcome to Roswell, pal. We’re just not big enough to have that kinda thing. I mean, I don’t know much about bikes but that seems like a specialty part.”

Finn purses his lips and Poe has to admit he does feel bad for the guy. It doesn’t show much outwardly, but he seems to have some heaviness weighing on him. That, with the boots, the army-green pack, and short twists growing on top of a standard issue fade are saying Finn may have just recently returned from Hell.

“Tell you what, why don’t you go check out some other shops? Maybe someone else can get the part for you. You can leave your stuff here, I’ll be open until six.”

Poe tries to smile encouragingly but Finn’s looking at him like he’s grown a second head and it makes his expression falter.

“You’d…you sure you’re alright with that? You’re not gonna sell my stuff street-side, right?”

Finn says it in a joking tone but his face doesn’t quite sell it. There’s a pang in Poe’s gut, something in the hesitant, vulnerable expression Finn’s giving him strikes a little too close to home. Poe extends his hand into the space between them.

“Promise.”

Finn smiles hesitantly and shakes his hand. His grip is callused, firm, and it sends a pleasant shiver up Poe’s arm.

“Thanks--” Finn ducks his head a bit, eyes flit to the name on Poe’s unbuttoned shop shirt. “--Poe. I really appreciate it.”

He takes a few minutes to square his things away, and Poe spies Snap stumbling in for the morning. He’s attacking the shop coffee pot, appropriate for the late November weather. On a whim, he cajoles him into pouring a bit in a paper cup and grabs a town map from the back. Finn seems to have cooled down and has shrugged into a brown leather jacket when Poe finds him again. He presses the map and the cup into Finn’s hands, mouth a little drier than before as he leads him to the door.

“If you go left up Main Street, there’s a dealership a couple blocks up, another garage north of 380. I’m not sure they’ll have anything for you, but it couldn’t hurt to check it out.”

Finn’s smile is a more genuine this time. He tucks the map into his jacket pocket and murmurs another soft, “Thanks,” before sliding out the door into the crisp morning air.

Poe makes a stop at the back office to make a note in his book about Finn's story before getting on with the day. Snap isn’t quite conscious when Finn shakes out but Poe’s apparently got a few stars in his eyes because he definitely ribs him about it later. As he tears into the Chevy’s starter and finds more blackened coils, he wishes he would’ve had a chance to ask Finn more.

Hours later, by the end of the work day, he gets his wish. It’s nearly six, already dark out and Poe’s humming along to _Layla_ before Finn comes back to the garage. This time, Poe hears the door bell jangle so he grabs a towel, wiping his hands as he works his way to the front. BB-8 beats him there, running for Finn like a long-lost friend. Unfortunately, Finn looks even more tired than before, the line of his shoulders sloping as he trudges in. He hasn’t spotted Poe yet; he drops into a foyer chair and leans back, rubbing absently at the bridge of his nose and BB’s ears. He sighs, but as soon as he sees Poe, he hops back to his feet.

“No luck?” Poe calls, even though he knows the answer.

Finn shakes his head. “Guess you were right.” He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. “Think you could order the part for me?”

“I can do it first thing in the morning, see if I can get the specs for it.”

“I’ve got a manual with me,” Finn supplies. “It oughta have the part number.”

Poe grins. “Right on, make my job easy.” He winks and, surprise of all surprises, Finn smiles back, so Poe says, “Look, why don’t you grab your bag? You’ve been walkin’ around all day, I can drop you by the motel.”

Finn holds up his hands in an appeasing way. “You’re already doing me a solid keeping my bike here. I couldn’t ask you to do that. I saw it on my way back, it’s not that far.”

“Nope, I insist. You look dead on your feet,” Poe says. “Lemme just get closed up here, ok?”

Finn sputters but Poe's already headed back into the shop. After a second, he hears Finn follow. Poe pulls down the garage door out front, locks up all the rest, and grabs his bag from the back room. Finn's shouldered his pack, standing a little awkwardly at the back, but he passes Poe a grateful look as the lights go out. With a quick step into the back parking lot, Poe signals BB into the Scout’s back bench and tosses his things in, motioning for Finn to do the same. The man sits gingerly in the passenger seat, like he's waiting for the other boot to drop, so Poe puts on the self-installed radio and pulls out of the parking lot nice and gentle.

He gets why Finn might be hesitant. People can be weird. It's easy to get hurt out there even though Finn looks like he can handle himself. He's not even sure himself why he's being so damn helpful. Something about Finn is easy to like, his manner reticent but not malicious. And maybe he’s wondering in the back of his mind what the line of Finn’s jaw would taste like. His dad would say to put on some lead shoes, to get his head out of the clouds, but Poe's never been able to say no to big dark eyes very easily. That aside, there's still something about Finn's non-story from the morning that tickles his brain, so he asks, "What brings you to Roswell?" as he eases out on to Main Street.

"Just on a trip, trying to get a fresh start. Something about this place seemed interesting, I thought I'd give it a try."

"It's not the aliens, is it?" Poe teases.

"No." Finn smiles, but that same space cadet look sneaks onto his face as Poe checks the traffic. "It just...felt like the place to be."

"You been here before?" he asks carefully.

"No, I don't think so."

"You don't think so?"

Finn stares pointedly out the windshield but haltingly says, "You ever...go to a place you're sure you've never been but everything feels familiar anyway?"

Poe hums noncommittally. "Can't say so. Pretty sure that's called déjà vu, though."

"I'm not sure this is that," Finn scoffs, "but it _is_ weird."

Poe lets Finn's words hang for a minute; ABBA comes in incongruous over the airwaves. "You seemed pretty shook up this morning." He tries to muse nonchalantly but he's not sure if Finn's buying it. "That have somethin' to do with it?"

"Probably." Out of the corner of his eye, Poe sees Finn's hands clench and unclench in his lap unconsciously. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I hardly believe me and I was there."

Poe takes a right, wheeling easy into traffic and says, "Try me."

"It...I was just riding along, everything workin' fine. One second, the road's flat ahead of me, the next, the engine's quit and I'm veering into the ditch." Finn shakes his head, like he really can't believe himself. "There wasn't even a noise, no sputter, no warning. It was like I blinked and the ditch jumped out at me. And I swear..."

He trails off but Poe can play the patience game.

"My watch stopped working at the same time. I didn't notice until later today, but it stopped at the time I almost crashed."

Alarm bells are ringing in Poe's head now.

"Wow, really?" He's never sure if he sounds convincing and it's risky, but he has to know, "Where'd that happen? You remember the mile marker? Maybe there's an electric line down or something and it screwed with your stuff."

It sounds flimsy to his ears but Finn seems to take it at face value. "I don't really know. The only thing I remember is getting the bike back on the road and having to push her so far.”

"Ah, well." His mouth mimics his thoughts more than he'd admit. It was a long shot anyway. Instead, he says, "Just glad you didn't eat it out there. I'd hate for a face as nice as yours to end up a pavement smear."

Ok, so that's risky, too. But there's something else about Finn that's setting off a different set bells in his brain; the cautious smile and soft, "Thanks," he gets in return seems worth it. The motel pops up on the left and, as Poe pulls in and kills the engine, he pulls a worn business card that reads _Dameron Auto Repair_ out of his glovebox.

"Don't forget about the part number," he says. "Call the shop around nine, I can come get you."

Finn brushes a thumb over the card, eyes wary again. "Wouldn't it be easier if I give you the number over the phone?"

_Shit_. "Well, yeah, I mean--" Poe stumbles. "I don't know that much about bikes, and she seems pretty important to you so I thought you'd like to check on her."

_There, that sounds better._ Even if Snap’s more than qualified to work on the machine, it seems like a great way to see a little more of Finn.

"Maybe stay for some coffee, give me some pointers," his mouth continues without his brain.

_Christ, what is he doing_? God, that's it. Went a step too far. Finn's got to think he's a grade-A fool, that maybe he's fishing for a tip, or something more salacious.

Which he might be. At some point. Not right this second. But that's not the point--

"Coffee sounds nice."

Oh. Finn's got that wan smile back. It stops Poe's spiral dead in its tracks and he can't help the goofy smile that breaks out over his face. Then, Finn pockets the card and pulls his bag from the back. He pats BB’s head before he slides out the door but he extends his hand back into the cab and says, "Thanks for all your help. It's good to meet you, Poe."

"It's good to meet you too, Finn."

The same tingle glitters on his fingertips as Finn's hand slides from his grasp. If Poe watches Finn's ass as he heads for the motel office, well, that's his own business. Then, with a sigh, he peers in the rearview at BB-8, who’s curled up in the back seat.

“You like him, huh?”

BB’s tail thumps the leather at the sound of his voice and Poe smiles.

“Me too, buddy.”

The Scout starts with a rumble, which shakes Poe back to his senses. Finn may be the most attractive lead he's ever had, but that doesn't mean there's not work to do now. Poe slides back out into traffic and heads to his place for a bit. Later, it’ll be out to Walker Base.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just bear with me here  
> we're learning a little more, alright?
> 
> also did i mention this is my 50th work on AO3 yaaaaay me lol

It’s close to 3AM and something bright is blinding him through his eyelids. _Rude_. Finn groans and turns over, burying his head in scratchy motel sheets, blearily hoping it’ll go away. Then, he hears a strange hissing sound getting closer to the window and _that_ has him bolt upright in bed. With a flip of the covers, he fishes his knife from the bedside table and creeps to the window, desperately wishing the blade wasn’t just three inches. Through the blinds, he looks left, then right. No one’s in the parking lot. In fact, no one else seems to have noticed the star wattage taking up residence in the lot. He looks up, and has to rub at his eyes to make sure he’s seeing what he’s seeing. A bright white light is trailing through the air, only thirty feet from the ground. _What in the hell?_

It moves like a helicopter, hovering and flitting from place to place, but it doesn’t _sound_ like one. Finn intimately knows what a chopper sounds like; this doesn’t really sound like anything. The hiss is like something escaping from a can or a balloon, and it probably wouldn’t be audible if it weren’t dead silent in his motel room. Cautiously, Finn unchains the door and peeks out, only to be assaulted with a smell like car exhaust. He coughs, covers his mouth and nose and stumbles back. He’s smelled something like it, out on the road. Just not this strong. Jesus, his eyes water at the strength of it and he coughs again, choking on the faint metallic underbite. The knife falls, bounces off the wall to the floor. His fingers fumble, barely able to get the door closed and locked. The room starts spinning, and his knees just hit the bed before the room whites out completely.

—

The bedside alarm starts screaming at 8AM, he’s pretty sure, but Finn doesn’t fully get conscious until about 9:00. He sits up with a groan, rubbing at his eyes and glancing at the sheets tangled at the foot of the bed. Damn, that was some nightmare. It’s not out of the ordinary, really, but it was certainly more vivid than usual. Vivid, but decidedly vague now that he’s thinking about it. He stretches, the scar on his back pulling tight. A headache is forming behind his eyes but if he doesn’t think too hard it might pass. He rubs the back of his neck and stumbles to the shower, shadows of helicopters in the dark in his head, blinding lights, the faint taste of ozone and iron at the back of his throat. _Christ, that’s awful_. It’s not until the pounding water clears his head and his stomach starts to growl that Finn even remembers what he’s supposed to be doing today.

The bike. His bike, his baby. Supposed to order the part with Poe.

Finn shakes his head to get some sense but he can’t stop the little smile that crosses his face. Poe Dameron and his adorable dog. As he dries, he can’t even remember the last time someone was so…nice. Finn’s not an idiot, something about Poe’s line of questioning seems fishy—he’s way too curious about the near wreck—but his friendliness seemed sincere. The way he smiles makes Finn’s stomach flip a little and it’s been a long time since something like that happened. But that’s about the only good thing that’s happened since he rolled in. Towel around his waist, he takes a few steps from the bathroom. Then, he freezes. He picks up his pocket knife from where it lays at the edge of the door. An icy feeling swims in his gut. How did that get there? He can’t place it. Maybe it was part of the nightmare, maybe he threw it? There's no telling, but it sits uneasily in his chest. Just like the town. Everything about Roswell seems eerily familiar, sparking incomplete memories of... _something_. Ugh, it hurts to think about it too much. He takes a deep breath and lets his mind settle. When he's found a pair of clean jeans and traded his boots for sneakers, he throws on his jacket, pockets the bike manual, and steps out.

Poe’s card is still in his pocket, and he supposes he could have called, but something from the dream still nags at him, and he’s not quite in the mood to socialize yet. He doesn't really even need to think about where he's going, his feet are already carrying him to the supermarket on the way to Poe's shop. Maybe he'll snag something for breakfast. It feels right, like an old habit. Maybe grab some decent coffee to share. From the taste of yesterday’s, the residents of _Dameron Auto Repair_ go about as far as Maxwell House Instant on the store shelf. Finn’s not a stranger to bad coffee, but he’s not at war anymore. He figures he’s earned his share of the good stuff. So, he slips in the store, grabs some easy eats, and dips in to the coffeehouse he spied on the way.

By the time he makes it to Poe’s shop, it’s just past 10:30 and he’s nearly forgotten the strange dream, his coffee long gone. Thankfully, the flavorful cup he bought for Poe is still mostly warm. Surely that’ll be a decent thank-you for being late. As he ducks in the garage door, he hears Poe’s dog pop up and bound toward him, tags jangling, nails clicking on the concrete. The red Retriever hits his knees so hard the coffee almost eats it. But he manages to table the cup and kneel to pet the crazy thing. He’s wagging his tail like crazy, prancing back and forth, and he catches sight of the dog’s tag. Just enough to cock an eyebrow.

“Thought you got a better offer!” Poe’s smiling, wiping his hands on a pair of tight, grease-stained jeans that make Finn’s mouth dry. He’s shaking his head. “Sorry about him.”

“Weird name for a dog, isn’t it? BeeBee-Ait?”

Finn looks up and sees Poe’s million-watt smile has dimmed some. “It was my mom’s short tag. Sort of a call sign, if you want.”

Poe whistles through his teeth. BB-8 immediately comes to heel, tail still thumping the concrete, and Finn gets to his feet.

“Military?”

“Intelligence officer in Korea, her and my dad both.” Poe laughs a little. “Two Bs: Bey, brown eyes, and an eight inch sole to kick your ass. Least that’s what Dad says it meant.”

Finn has the distinct feeling that more of the past surrounds Poe’s mother than the present. Poe’s eyes are a bit sadder than before, BB-8 looking up at him with an equally doleful expression, like he can sense his master’s mood dip. Well, really put his foot in it there, didn’t he? He's still trying to formulate some way to give his condolences when Poe shakes himself out of it and says,

“You got the part number?"

He fishes the manual from his pocket and passes Poe the coffee. A pleasant warmth blooms in his chest at Poe's surprised smile, and quickly turns into something hotter when Poe makes a noise after the first sip. He takes another sip, and Finn's not too proud to admit he watches Poe's ass as he retreats back into the garage with the cup and the manual. After a second, he follows.

" _Jesus_ , that's good coffee,” he says over his shoulder. “I’d offer you some from the pot but that’d just feel like a crime after this.”

Finn chuckles and leans against the counter. “Still wouldn’t say no.”

Poe looks him up and down and it makes Finn tingle a bit. “How do you take it?”

“Any way you make it,” skips out his mouth before he can think better of it.

“Like surprises, do you?” A wide, teasing smile breaks over Poe’s face and he sets the coffee and the book on his work bench.

_Well, two can play that game_. He smiles, tilts his head back coyly. “Only good ones.”

Poe smirks, walking backward toward the office, arms spread wide. “How d’you know it’ll be any good?”

He wets his lips and shrugs nonchalantly. “Fixing things can’t be the only thing you’re good at. Call it a hunch.”

Poe looks a little gobsmacked, but his grin widens and in a few seconds, he reappears from the back office with a steaming cup. His fingers brush Poe's as he takes the proffered cup, and he doesn't miss the way Poe's eyes flit between them. _Interesting._ It draws a little smirk out, despite himself.

"Thanks," he murmurs.

There's a hot moment where it seems like Poe might say something but it passes as Poe clears his throat and says, “Hey, come look that this thing with me. Snap, my bike guy, won’t be in until noon.”

He clears a spot for Finn at the nearest workbench. Together, they lean over the manual, their shoulders nearly touching as Finn flips through the pages. He tries not to think about it too much.

“So,” Poe says nonchalantly, “what were you doin’ before your trip? You did say you were on a trip, right?”

Finn glances over and shrugs. “Not much. Stayed in California for a while, worked overseas a bit.”

Sometimes, it’s easier to dodge the question. Vietnam wasn’t a popular thing, to say the least, and it still makes his skin crawl to think about it, much less talk. But, maybe that wasn’t the best thing to lead with, because Poe’s eyebrow creeps up in curiosity.

“Overseas, huh? What’d you do there?”

“Medicine,” he hedges.

It’s not exactly a lie, he _was_ a field medic, but he hopes it’s a short enough answer that Poe doesn’t pry any more. The last thing he wants is to get that _look,_ the one that conveys either pity or contempt, depending on who’s looking. He especially doesn’t want that from Poe, so he stares pointedly at the bike manual and keeps flipping the pages.

The mechanic hums in a noncommittal sort of way. There’s a pause before he asks, “Still feelin’ that déjà vu stuff?”

“Kind of,” Finn admits. It doesn’t feel as weird to admit that, because he’s sure that it’s just a coincidence. So, he drily jokes instead, “It’s come in handy. Already knew my way here.”

Poe’s eyebrow creeps a little higher but thankfully, Finn finds the part they need and that tables _that_ conversation. As Poe smiles gently and heads to the back to make the order, Finn leans against the work bench and sips his coffee, thinking. It’s not that he doesn’t want Poe to know, but he did just meet the guy and people always pass judgement faster when they don’t know you. If he’s going to be stuck here a week, he’d rather the handsome company _not_ walk on eggshells around him. There’s plenty of bullshit banging around in his skull without someone else’s judgement jumping in. Plus, something about Poe makes him feel…nice. Well, that’s one way of putting it. And he’d like to keep it that way. 

Poe saunters back out and Finn feels his stomach flip a bit. Christ, he’s going to have to get that under control.

“Good news!” Poe smiles. “My guy says he can have the part in by Friday. Four day wait’s not as bad, right?”

Finn can’t help but smile back. “Guess there’s an upside to getting stranded on a Monday.”

“You got any plans for the rest of the day?”

Finn blinks, not sure if the tempting tone was one he imagined or not. “I…thought I’d check out the book shop, grab something to pass the time. Wander around.”

Poe nods encouragingly, and Finn’s even more confused. “They’ve got some good stuff there. Feel free to stop by any time you’re out. I’ll be here.”

At that, Finn raises an eyebrow, and Poe seems to trip over himself. “Uh, I mean I’ll be here with the bike! Come by and check on her any time, I—we’d love to see you.”

Now Finn’s got a pretty strong hunch he _didn’t_ imagine the tone to Poe’s voice and he has to get a handle on his face before he lets on exactly what he thinks of that.

“I’ll be sure to come by,” is all he says instead. It sounds more like a promise than he means but when Poe runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper curls, smiling a bashful smile, Finn decides maybe it’s not a bad thing.

He leaves the shop with a grin and a pat for BB-8, and for the rest of the day, he does exactly what he says he would. The bookshop has plenty to offer, so he picks up a few thrillers and a few comics, just for fun. They fit easily enough into his jacket pockets, so he wanders to the park, to the drive-in theater, just going wherever his feet will carry him. It’s easier to walk in his sneakers, which is good because his brain won’t seem to focus on anything in particular. It just keeps spinning in circles, shadows of memory darting to and fro, ephemeral as wood-smoke. At some point, his feet take him to the very southern-most part of town, back down the highway he came in on. There’s an old cemetery to his right, and nothing but scrubby desert beyond. Despite the cool November climes, the air above the cracked asphalt seems to shimmer with heat, the emptiness of the horizon hooked and pulling in his gut. For a long while, he stares down the highway. An impression, a door out in the sands and scrub, a far-off roar of unintelligible sound and shouted voices bounce around in his mind. _A door_?

Christ, his head hurts. Finn pinches his eyes shut and rubs his brow. _Why a door? Why?_ He can’t put his finger on it but something churns in his stomach at the thought. Feeling vaguely nauseous, he gathers himself and treks back to the motel, stopping again at the supermarket for things to cook in the small kitchenette. The headache persists the rest of the day, fogging his eyes so the books he’d bought turn out pretty much useless. Maybe he’s hungry? Yes, he is, but even after eating his head still won’t settle. It’s early, barely 7:00, but that’s it. Any light at all is painful, so he decides to pack it in. What better way to cure a headache than sleep? He stretches, scratches at the lowest part of his scar where he can reach it, sighs. He pops a few of the aspirin still rattling in his jacket and slides into bed. And, as much as he’d rather think about Poe or literally anything else, the door in the desert is the last thing he remembers before drifting into uneasy sleep.

\--

The lights that wake him again in the small morning hours are nothing more than bad dreams. Right? Wartime nightmares, nothing more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's probably the one i have the most mixed emotions on, hope it's ok

The next day, Poe doesn’t see Finn at all. He even wanders around town at lunch, hoping to maybe catch him, maybe make some conversation, but no dice. By the end of the day, he figures it’s for the best. Even if he is down about it. Leaves his evening free to do some more digging into Finn’s story. He piles his things into the Scout at day’s end and heads to the north ridge of Walker Base. According to his notes, this is a spot where lots of weird sightings and electrical malfunctions have happened before; there’s a trailer park not far from the defunct entrance. He’s staked out this area before but based on the patterns he’s collected, it wouldn’t hurt to watch it again. Finn’s near-accident occurred to the west of the base and the happenings tend to be random, so he'd have just as much luck staking there are the trailer park. As he waits and watches, feeding BB-8 the occasional jerky treat, he puzzles over the data in his journal.

Instances of amnesia are highest at the trailer park. Finn’s loss seems to be an anomaly, save for one other report on the road a few hundred feet south of there. He’ll have to look at the maps again. It seems like there’s almost a triangulation happening but there’s not quite enough there to know for sure. Really, he’s hoping for another picture tonight. There’s one good one, among dozens of others, of the light that comes and goes. It’s some kind of craft, he’s sure, but it’s always silent. Magnetic propulsion maybe? Tests with a magnetohydrodynamic drive had started about ten years ago, is it something like that? He sighs, makes a note in his journal. Without another set of photos, there’s no way to know. What would even be the purpose of it? _That's_ the question that nags him, more than anything. For a while, he sits and watches. Frustration grows and the hours drag on. He moves position, tries the western edge of the base. Still nothing. It’s not until his watch near four AM does he pack it in, disgusted.

What a wasted night.

After precious little sleep, Poe rolls into the garage around noon, absolutely exhausted and more than a little frustrated. Even BB-8 is tired, his tail barely wagging when Snap gives him a critical once-over. Poe feels a bit bad, he should’ve taken BB home first. He just hates to go without him.

“You out late again?” It’s Snap’s early day but he apparently still has energy to argue. “Poe…” he starts.

Poe sighs and unshoulders his bag, sinking into the office chair with a cup of coffee. “No, no me provoques, Maria, I don’t wanna hear it.” Ok, maybe more snappish than necessary.

Snap puts his hands up defensively and rolls his eyes. “Man, you gotta give it up at some point. Ten _years_ , Poe. Ten years. You know I got your back but not when you’re chasing after something that’s gonna tear you apart.”

Poe takes a sip of his coffee to hide his wince. “I just got some new info, that’s all,” he mutters.

That much is true, even though it looks like the new info is going to go nowhere. This is the second night in a row he’s been out, looking for any other clues. A track, a scrap, anything. He’d driven for miles in all directions from where he thought Finn almost ate pavement, and ended up at the same goddamn fence he always ended at. If he had any clue where to go after that, he’d drive right through the thing. As it stands, it pays to be cautious. He glares at Snap, then immediately feels bad as he sees how rough around the edges he looks.

Snap sighs. “Poe, I know this has been hard for you, especially since your dad packed it in.”

“Don’t—” Poe hisses.

“Let me finish, I’m not tryin’ to pick a fight, ok?” Snap sighs again, looking as tired as Poe feels, backing away to the door. “L’ulo and me, and Kes, we worry about you. They want her back as much as you do, but you’ve been looking for her for how long now? You’ve overdone it; I just want you to be alright. You know she would, too. You need a break, or you’re gonna run yourself into the ground.”

Poe can’t say anything around the hard lump in his throat.

Snap shakes his head, coughs hard into his elbow. “The Moores left their Toyota for a transmission flush. There’s a few more on the schedule for today.”

Poe winces as he gets to his feet. That cough sounds rough and the more he looks at Snap, the more it looks like the guy is going to keel over. It's an out, and he decides to take it. “Look, why don’t you head home?”

“There’s no one else here. It’s Romero’s day off, remember?”

“Snap. Just…go home. Go get some rest. You look dead on your feet. I’ll take care of it.”

The fact that Snap doesn’t argue clues Poe in to just how bad he must be feeling. Flu maybe? It is that time of year. He’d be more worried if Karé wasn’t there. But, she’ll be home in the evening, ready to chastise her man while she makes him soup. And, if he’s being truthful, he’s too tired to deal with Snap’s words. As soon as Snap is out the door, Poe sighs and sinks back into the office chair, listening with one ear to whatever is playing on the radio. The Doors, it sounds like. BB-8 is curled next to him in his basket by the desk, just close enough for Poe to absently pet his nose as he kicks his feet up and closes his eyes. He needs to get some rest himself, he’s not as young as he once was. Just a few minutes.

The next thing he knows, Finn is calling his name.

Poe shoots awake, nearly tipping back flat in his chair. BB-8 is gone, probably already leading Finn to him, the traitor. And, speak of the devil, BB-8’s reddish snout pushes open the office door, Finn following close behind. Poe sits forward and groans to himself. Well, he thought to himself. Finn’s crossing the room to kneel at his side, a steady hand firm on his shoulder, and that suggests otherwise.

“Hey, hey are you ok?”

BB-8 huffs at Finn’s side and Poe shoots him a glares. _Nosy hound_.

“Yeah,” Poe grinds out, trying to not wince as his back spasms. “Just…long night.”

He glances at the clock and actually does groan aloud this time. Fuck, that’s two hours gone. Maybe Snap was right. He’s overdone it, and he won’t be able to _keep_ doing if business falls off.

“Shit. Shit shit shit,” is all he can say as he staggers to his feet.

Finn follows him up, hand still anchoring him on his shoulder, tingling in his skin. “What’s the deal? You suddenly got somewhere to be?”

Poe scrubs a hand down his face. “You could say that. I’ve got a laundry list of stuff to fix and just me to fix it. Half my staff is sick, the other half is off. If I’m gonna make any cash here, I need like three more of me.”

Finn sways back for a second, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I could help you,” he murmurs.

Poe stops dead halfway to the door and turns on his heel. Finn’s trying to look relaxed but Poe can see a tightness to his shoulders, an exhaustion sitting heavy there. _Christ, who isn’t tired around here_?

“Finn, I can’t—”

“I’d actually…really appreciate it,” Finn mutters. “You don’t have to pay me or anything. I was stopping by for a distraction anyway. I just need to do something with my hands.”

He’s got that space cadet look back, looks distracted as all hell already, and something trills in Poe’s muzzy mind. Something's bothering him, Poe can see that much. But, he makes a note to ask about it later. There’s been enough digging around for today. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the look on Finn’s face, but slowly, he says, “All right. If you’re sure.”

Finn gives him an easy smile, the first of many over the next couple hours. Poe’s really too tired to carry on much deep conversation, and Finn seems to be, too. But it’s a companionable quiet, an easy passing of tools, superficial talk, and the occasional teasing touch. Turns out, whatever medicine Finn practiced overseas also gave him a decent hand at machines. That definitely sparks Poe’s curiosity about it. He has his suspicions, of course, but he’s enjoying the time too much to ask just yet. By the time the closing hour passes, they’ve actually managed to get through all the repairs and tune-ups on the schedule. The last customer trundles out and Poe drops back into his office chair.

“I can’t thank you enough. Seriously.”

Finn eases into the chair across from him and pulls a worn paperback from his coat pocket. “I should really be thanking you, I think,” he says. “I needed that. Definitely.”

“You, uh, you don’t have to stay. There’s just the boring stuff left.”

Finn stares pointedly at the corner of the desk. “I’d like to, if that’s all right with you. It’s…nice here. Much better than reading by myself in a motel room.”

There’s still paperwork to do, money to count, but Finn really does seem content to sit in the chair across from him. The soft inflection in his voice makes something warm and soft bloom in Poe’s chest.

“I’d like that.” _Shit._ Finn’s dark eyes meet his and Poe realizes just how transparent he is. But, why lie? “I’d like the company.”

At that, Finn smiles gently and eases back, kicking his feet into the remaining chair like he’s always belonged there. BB-8 curls in his basket, the only sounds in the office are the soft turning of paper and _Do You Miss Me Darlin’_ floating from the radio. It’s all ridiculously domestic and Poe feels a little pang at the realization that it’s not going to last long. Finn’s part should be in in just a couple days, then he’s as good as gone. Poe sighs at the thought, and Finn’s gaze flickers to him for an instant. It’s then he realizes all the bills that passed through his fingers didn’t even get counted and he has to start again. After that, he focuses as best he can on the task at hand. When he’s finally got the numbers right, he pockets some cash for Finn.

When at last he finishes, it’s not even a question that he’s driving Finn back. As usual, the man tries to protest and Poe rides over him, BB-8 faithfully guiding them back out to the Scout SUV. Poe pulls into the motel parking lot, struck with an intense desire to do all this again. He’s still trying to figure out how to ask Finn to come back when he hears, “Would it be all right if we did this again tomorrow? It’s easier to be out there, with you, than alone.”

“Uh—” Poe blinks. Talk about the same brainwave. Must be something in the air. Or maybe Finn’s just a blunt kind of guy. “Yeah! I mean, of course. That’d…be nice. I’ll still be short a man.”

It’s a flimsy excuse but to say he’s ecstatic that Finn asked would be an understatement. Something about Finn is a bit like a balm, easing him into a steadier state he hasn’t felt in a long time. The smile he gets in return makes the warm feeling grow back but all his ease goes out the door with Finn as he starts to slide out.

“Here,” he mumbles, shoving the cash into Finn’s hands.

“Poe—”

“Ahtt, dut dut, just take it.” He waves his hand at the money. “It’s the least I can do.”

Finn’s smile gets a bit softer and for a hot instant, Poe wants to grab him by that ridiculous leather jacket and kiss him stupid. It doesn’t exactly pass but Finn slides the rest of the way out of the Scout and the moment’s gone.

“Thanks, Poe. See you tomorrow?”

The hopeful upturn in Finn’s voice makes his stomach flips. His throat feels dry.

“Night, buddy.”

He watches until Finn ducks into his motel room with a tiny wave before a deep sigh escapes him. If that’s not a sign, he doesn’t know what it. Maybe Snap had a point. Poe’s been looking for so long, surely it would be ok to just _enjoy_ something—more specifically, someone—for just a little while. Poe’s just tired enough to give in, to entertain the desire. As he starts up the Scout and starts the ride home, a vague idea for Finn, for tomorrow, starts rolling around in his head. Whatever is in the desert can wait. Just a few days.

—

After a decent night’s sleep, Thursday starts fresh, rolling around and by in a blink. Romero opened and business had been steady, so before Poe knows it, it’s almost closing time. And he’s spent most of the day just thinking about Finn, even though he’s right there in the shop. But, having someone else around definitely deters deep conversation and unfortunately, watching Finn work has put Poe’s imagination into overdrive. Finn rolls out from under a Buick, wiping grease on a shop towel, looking more and more like he belongs in the shop full time. Poe catches himself smiling like a dope when Finn stands, stuffs the rag in his back pocket. The man knows his way around an oil change and it’s making Poe’s knees weaker than he’d like to admit. He can’t even remember what he’s supposed to be doing, but there’s a broom in his hand so maybe that should be a clue.

“I think that oughta do it,” Finn says as he putters around the shop table, putting his tools back in a fashion too orderly to belong in _Dameron Auto Repair_. “Got any others for the day?”

Poe’s throat is so dry it clicks when he swallows. “No, that’s it,” he manages. “Just gotta close up.”

Finn turns and cocks an eyebrow. “What about the Ibez car? Didn’t they drop it off for a brake replacement?”

Poe manages to drag his eyes up to meet Finn’s but it’s hard. His eyes catch on a thin gold chain around his neck, reel down the line of Finn’s throat to where it disappears in the V of his unbuttoned shirt. _Jesus._ He glances at the clock. It’s gone 5:00, there’s no way to get a brake job done in an hour, not with the ancient drum brakes on that Ford. Besides, another idea—probably a bad one—is rolling around in his brain, just waiting for the right synapses to fire.

“Why don’t we call it a day? They weren’t coming to pick it up until tomorrow. We can do it first thing.”

That raised eyebrow is back but Finn shrugs easily enough and starts tucking tools away again.Poe watches for a second before his brain kicks back into gear. He sweeps his broom back and forth, focusing on the slip and slide and the dust so he doesn’t watch Finn like a creep. It doesn’t help that some semi-romantic tune is playing over the radio, or that Poe’s sure Finn smells a little like him now, that permanent shop smell clinging to his clothes. Oh, no. Now he has to watch the broom even closer so he doesn’t think about anything else clinging to Finn. Certainly not his shirt. Not his pants. _Definitely_ not the way Poe imagines his fingers might cling to Finn’s shoulders without one or both of the former clothing items present. Oh, _that_ thought is not the one he needed right now. It sparks his stupid mouth into action and before he can get a handle on it, he says, “Got any plans for tonight?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets the way they sound. _Got any plans, jesus christ_. Finn apparently picks up on his chagrin and decides to go for teasing.

“So many,” Finn grins. “You wouldn’t believe all the plans I’ve got goin’ on.”

Poe rolls his eyes, hoping the blush he’s feeling hasn’t made it to his face. Might as well go on with it. “No room in there for dinner, then?”

This time, Finn’s eyes go wide and distracting, like he’s surprised Poe even asked. “Dinner?”

He’s going out on a limb but this feels a little more like familiar ground. “Yeah, you know. Dinner.” The broom hits the table with a clack as he lets go and strolls right into Finn’s space. “When people sit down, eat, talk, that sort of thing?”

Finn’s lips quirk in a smile that’s half amused, half exasperated, his dark eyes a little taunting. “I’m familiar with the concept.”

And just like that, Finn’s thrown him off again. He catches himself, rests his hands on his belt and shakes his head with a rueful smile. The man is ridiculously good at learning Poe’s game, and he can play back lightning fast. Poe’s not sure if he likes it or _loves_ it. He bites his lip in an unconscious habit but he doesn’t miss the way Finn’s eyes draw down.

“So, how ‘bout it?” _This is a good idea, right?_ “You an’ me? Dinner?”

The smile that lights Finn’s face tells him yeah, good idea. It’s soft, a little shy, and Poe melts a bit.

“I’d like that.”

After running BB-8 home, dinner turns into dinner and a movie at his suggestion, which turns into a double feature at the drive-in at the edge of town after a late-night coffee. It’s…easy to get lost in conversation, to get to know Finn’s likes and dislikes and skirt around all the mess that still presses at him. He’d like to keep Finn out of _that,_ even though it’s getting harder to do it. Finn’s still not open about his history anyway, which makes Poe feel a little less bad about keeping secrets. Still hates it, though. He can’t help himself, it’s been a long time since being with someone felt this easy. Or, it was about half a movie ago. It’s past midnight, the second feature is well underway but Poe couldn’t say what it was about if asked. They’re the only car left in the lot and now, the space between them feels like it’s on fire. Poe’s fingers are itching to reach out and touch. He tests the waters, so to speak, settling his hand on the center console between them. Finn shifts, leaning in his bucket seat just far enough to set _his_ hand right on the closest of Poe’s spread legs.

Well.

All the air seems to leave the Scout’s cab when he feels Finn’s fingers against the inner seam of his jeans, at the tender point of his thigh. Poe glances at Finn to find him watching for Poe’s reaction out of the corner of his eye, the side of his mouth turned up in a sly smile. Never one to be outdone, Poe fits his hand over Finn’s and squeezes. At this point, it’s all he can do not to tear out of the parking lot and take Finn home.

“So,” he starts, eyes still firmly fixed on the film, “can I kiss you?”

Finn shifts again; Poe manages to get himself together and turn. Finn’s eyes are flashing in the movie light and looking right at him, mouth still upturned in that teasing way.

“As long as that’s not all you do.”

That’s _definitely_ the answer he wanted to hear. He leans forward and Finn meet him halfway, the fingers on his thigh sliding in, Poe’s hand coming up to cup Finn’s jaw. At first, it’s nothing more than a press of lips, another testing of the water. The slide of Finn’s mouth tingles in his solar plexus; he gasps and Finn’s tongue slides right in. _Oh fuck_. Finn kisses like he was made for it, mouth firm, purposeful, teeth biting gentle at first then close enough to real business that it shivers down Poe’s spine. Finn pulls away, sucking in a sharp breath when Poe bites back, Finn’s bottom lip sliding from between his teeth. 

He takes a second to breathe, Finn sucking his own lip like he already misses Poe’s mouth. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“Do you want to finish the movie?” Finn asks. It's not really a question.

Ok, not wishful thinking. His voice is a little harsh, a little teasing, and all Poe needs to start the truck. Finn chuckles; Poe throws the Scout in reverse.

“I’ll wait for the tape.”

Not for the first time, Poe curses himself and his habitation choices. Why did he have to live so far out of town? He speeds west, confident no cops will be out this time of night, already jonesing for Finn’s mouth again.

At least, until he catches sight of a V trio of bright, awful light out over the sands to the south, just a few hundred feet away. He slows, watching incredulously the lights flits back and forth. Finn apparently sees it, too, his hand coming up to squeeze Poe’s shoulder.

“Poe, do you see that?”

“Uh huh,” is all he can manage.

Can’t believe it, more like. How long has he been waiting for something like this? Why did it have to show up now?

“What the hell is it?” Finn’s voice is tight.

“A ship. Buckle up!”

In a split decision, he veers off the road into the dunes.

“Poe, what are you _doing_?” Finn scrambles with the seatbelt, holding on for dear life as the Scout lurches through the sand. “Are we really doin’ this?”

“I gotta go after it, just hang on!”

He takes a hill too quick, coming down sharp and hard on the other side. The shocks groan, a steep ravine yawns to the right, he veers off course.

“You better have a good goddamn reason for this!” Finn shouts, pushing himself away from the window as if that’ll keep him out of the ravine.

Poe doesn’t reply, he just grips the wheel tight and swings the Scout back on track, the belly just scraping by a low spot in the chasm. Not for the first time, Poe thanks all that’s holy for four-wheel drive and throws it in to get back up the other side. The lights seems to have noticed them, zipping to the south at a ridiculous clip, still in V formation. Poe pushes the truck as hard as he dares, dodging the larger of the scraggly desert brush. A highway crops back up and the Scout’s tires screech as Poe maneuvers back onto solid ground. The light’s fading, getting out of range. He pushes the speedometer—70, 80, 100—as hard as she’ll go, eyes fixed on the ship.

“Poe!”

Finn’s tone is warning enough. He refocuses on the road to see a sharp curve veering left, barbed wire tracking the edge of the pavement. He slams on the brakes, throws an arm over Finn’s chest instinctively, straightening, screeching to a halt, eyes back on the sky.

But as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone.

“Fuck.”

Poe scrambles out onto the pavement, his feet carrying him up the road, searching the sands and the sky for anything. He hears the passenger door open as Finn follows.

“Where are you going? You gonna chase it on foot?”

It takes him a moment to realize where he is, where that damned ship has led him again. The edge of Walker Air Base. He’d know this stretch of road, that ridiculously high barbed wire fence. Rage simmering in his blood boils over and he kicks the ground uselessly, an effusive stream of frustrated Spanish punctuating the motion. He takes a couple deep breaths, turning on the spot once, twice, until he catches sight of Finn approaching, hands up and spread in a disarming way. Instantly, Poe’s shoulders slump and he realizes how badly he’s fucked up. So much for keeping Finn out of the mess.

“Poe, c’mon,” Finn’s voice is steady and there’s a sharpness in his eyes, illuminated in the Scout’s floodlights. “Let’s get back in the truck. You’re not gonna get anywhere through that wire, whatever you were chasing is gone.”

“Yeah,” he grinds out. “Again.”

A line appears in Finn’s brow but he doesn’t back down until Poe sighs and turns back to the Scout.

“Come on. I think I owe you an explanation.”

“You’re damn right you do.”

In a few strides, they slide side by side back in, and Poe starts the truck in a tight silence. It’s not until he’s back on the road to town does Finn pipe up.

“So?”

_Well, here we go._

“It was a ship.”

“Bullshit,” Finn snaps. “It didn’t move like any aircraft I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s because it’s not like any aircraft you’ve ever seen,” Poe snaps back.

“So, what? Don’t tell me it’s aliens, I swear to God I will punch you, moving vehicle or not.”

“Of course it’s not aliens, d’you really think I’d be chasin’ after something like that?”

He glances over and Finn crosses his arms. “Oh no, please elaborate. You’re just chasing random lights, then?”

He pauses.

“It’s a military craft, part of Walker Base. It’s one of a few. They’ve been coming and going outta the desert for years. I’m not sure exactly how they work—magnetic propulsion, I think—I’m trying to find out what they’re doin’ out there.”

Ok, so it’s not the whole truth, but it’s part of it at least.

“You’re sure about this? Walker Base closed years ago.”

Poe glances at Finn again, surprised at his tone. It’s thoughtful, considering.

“Yeah, I know. Closed in ’68. But something is still goin’ on there. I have evidence, weird reports, sightings and photographs from the last five years.”

Finn’s arms are still crossed, but he’s quiet, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Or that a headache is building, it’s hard to tell. Poe resolutely keeps his eyes on the road, hands tighten on the wheel but he pushes out a breath. Of course Finn’s upset, he very unwillingly participated in a desert goose chase. Poe just hopes he’ll understand.

“Look, just…come back to my place. I can show you all the proof you need.”

Finn stiffens, his hand going for the door, and Poe’s gut clenches.

“I’m not some psycho, I promise, I’m not gonna hurt you. I just—I need you to believe me.”

Jesus, this is the opposite of how he thought this night was going to go. Absently, he realizes just how much Finn’s opinion of him matters. He’s never offered to share proof before, and he’s surprised at himself. But…maybe Finn can help. A fresh set of eyes to look it over.

_If he decides to stay_ , Poe thinks bitterly. Which is probably the least likely thing he can imagine right now. There’s a long silence, but at last, Finn sighs. Surprisingly enough, it’s an encouraging sound.

“This better be good, Dameron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooo ok
> 
> ok

Poe’s house is not what he was expecting.

BB-8 barks as they approach, tied on a long lead at the side of the house. Maybe he let his imagination get the better of him after Poe’s little desert excursion. Honestly, he was expecting to see a rat’s nest of papers, maybe old beer bottles or guns, or anything that might mark Poe as absolutely off his rocker. But, the house is clean. A little disorganized but no more than any house he’s ever seen. Not that he’s seen many _real_ houses, but he’s got an idea, anyway. There’s a front and back deck, an open kitchen with dishes in the sink, cozy living room. Even skylights and some posters and pictures on the wall. Just…a regular place. Comfortable, like a home should be. If Poe hadn’t just flipped on the crazy switch, he’d be excited to see it.

Maybe that’s a little harsh. He _did_ agree to see Poe’s work, so he must believe him more than he would admit. Something in the back of his mind is burning, too many things—past and present—line up for him to discount Poe completely.

“C’mon,” Poe says, dropping his keys in a bowl by the door. “Just down here.”

Finn follows, but cautiously. As much as he wants to believe Poe, there’s no sense in letting his guard down completely. Poe stops at the first door on the left down the hall. He opens the door and steps in, and Finn’s jaw drops.

There _are_ papers everywhere in here, but there’s a very strong sense of organization to it. Maps litter the walls, marked with colored thumbtacks, a color key on the desk. Photos of the same light, sometimes multiple lights or the vague outline of a triangular ship of some kind, are connected to the maps via thick black lines. Starter solenoids and electrical components from at least twenty different vehicles sit in a bookshelf, each carefully labeled with a date and name. All of the parts have the same black sludge that had covered the points in his own engine. Poe rustles with something in his desk. A black notebook, clearly old and well-used. He turns, scribbling something in it as he says, “So, this is it.”

“No, really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

He’s not trying to be an ass but it’s about all he can manage. It does make Poe smile a bit, for which he’s thankful. It makes this whole mess seem a little less surreal, to have that familiar fixture in Poe’s face. He steps to the closest map, eyeing the tacks that litter the southern portion of Roswell in standard quadrangle scale. He’s familiar enough with navigation, so pinpointing Walker Air Force Base via latitude and longitude is easy. It’s certainly easy on this map, what with the dozens of pins pushed into and around the spot.

“This is everything I’ve found,” Poe sighs, gesturing around the room with his book. “All sharing a common theme. See if this sounds familiar: someone’s driving along, easy as you please. One second, the road is right where it should be, the next, they’re almost in the ditch. They come to, don’t remember a thing. Black sludge in their electrics.”

Finn’s skin prickles uncomfortably.

“Or, get this—I’ve also had reports of that same phosphorescent light around town, late at night, early early morning. Records of memory loss after seeing the light, or dreaming that they saw it. Whatever they had to say to write it off as anything but what it is. There’s been no formal investigation because no one will take it seriously.”

_That_ grabs his attention. “How many other people have reported this?”

Poe’s head snaps up and he narrows his eyes. Oh, shit. Finn instantly realizes what came out of his mouth. Gave himself away. Thankfully, Poe seems to smooth over it.

“At least a dozen. And those are only the ones I’ve managed to talk to. There’s more, probably. I just started this whole operation about five years ago. Takes a while to build up a trustworthy reputation, even if you _are_ the best mechanic in town,” Poe says ruefully.

Finn takes another look around the room and shakes his head. He still can’t believe all this is real. It sounds like something out of science fiction, a regular conspiracy case. But, the more he thinks about it, the more believable it sounds, despite the headache it’s giving him. He’s been part of the military machine, he’s intimately familiar with just how far higher-ups would go. He thinks back briefly to his last mission, to the orders they were given. The reason for his discharge. He shivers.

“Ok, so say you’re right. Say the military is testing strange aircraft out here. It’s suspicious,” he admits, “but it’s not exactly illegal. What are you hoping to do here? Why did you even start this in the first place?”

Poe glances at the floor, a muscle working in his jaw. “I…” He catches himself, seems to think better of it and tries again. “They might be hurting people. More than usual. Hurting civilians. Think about it. Why the memory loss? The black sludge? What’s causing that? Why would strange ships be flittin’ around at night, anyway?”

Finn pinches his brow again. Something is throbbing at the back of his skull. He takes a deep breath, looks at the map again. Clusters. Repeat spots. Different types of vehicles, if the electric components were anything to go by. Christ, his head hurts, but still he stares.

What _is_ the connection? He knows, he _knows_ what it is, why can’t he remember?

“So…” Poe sighs. “You believe me?”

There’s something so vulnerable in the way Poe asks that it draws Finn out of his thoughts and back to the present. Poe’s leaned back against his desk as if to be nonchalant, but his arms are crossed over his chest and he’s not quite hiding the apprehensive look on his face. Finn hesitates for only a moment.

“Yeah. I do.”

The dreams, the electrical failure, his consistent headaches and vague memories. It’s gotta be connected. He’s just amazed it managed to fall into his lap like this. Poe huffs, a little incredulous, but pushes himself off his desk and comes to stand by his side.

“How about we look it over in the morning?” Poe asks gently. “I could really use your help. I’ve been starin’ at these maps so long I’m going cross-eyed.”

Finn turns back to the map, eyeing it again. His headache suggests that might be a good idea. He’s close to something, he’s just not certain what.

“Sure,” he murmurs.

For the first time in a while, Poe smiles. Really smiles, and it definitely makes Finn’s stomach flip a bit. His mind wanders back to what they were doing _before_ the bombshell. Vaguely, he wonders how the night might’ve ended with no weird ship involved. He can’t think about it too long, because Poe claps him on the shoulder and scurries out of the room even though his fingers linger. He tosses a question over his shoulder.

“Night cap?”

Finn shakes his head, some of the ache clearing away, but says, “Yeah,” as he follows.

After a little digging, Poe pulls a couple beers from the fridge and leads Finn out the back door into the cool night air. It seems like the best place to be, the interior of the house feeling too close-quarter, even though some small part of Finn would _like_ for them to be closely quartered. Instead, Poe takes a seat and motions Finn to the other.

Finn leans back against in his deck chair gingerly, nearly mimicking Poe’s posture but for the fiddling of his fingers around the beer bottle neck. He’s not sure why he’s nervous exactly—Poe’s proven himself trustworthy—but it’s thrumming in his gut, that’s for sure. Poe, on the other hand, looks downright relaxed, head tilted back and eyes on the sky. He can’t help wondering what Poe hopes to find out here. Chasing strange ships in the desert is one thing, but what would he even do with the information? Part of him desperately wants to ask but it doesn’t feel like he can do that yet. Instead, he takes a long pull on his beer and looks to the sky himself.

After a beat, he catches Poe staring at him.

“The first day you were here,” Poe murmurs, “you said that you weren’t sure if you’d been here or not.”

Finn frowns but he doesn’t reply. Surely, there’s more to it.

“If you’re not sure if you’ve been here, then where’d you come from?”

_Ah_.

“I told you, I was coming from California.” It’s not quite the whole truth and it burns a little in his throat.

“Yeah, you said,” Poe grunts, sitting forward. “But what about before that? What’s the history here? C’mon, can’t a guy be curious?”

Finn swallows hard as Poe takes a drink, trying not to watch the way Poe’s lips fit around the bottle. Truthfully, there’s a large chunk of broken memories. Lots of pieces and not the whole. That wouldn’t be so bad if it were from childhood, but this was only a few years ago. It never really occurred to him, out in the bush, just how long it was.

“I—” He falters, unsure of how to start, but Poe’s looking at him with earnest eyes and for the first time, he wants to share. Who else would believe him like Poe believes?

“I was an orphan,” he tries again. “Grew up in Illinois, St. Charles Boys Home. Had a pretty rough time. Georgia and John, the house parents, they were ok, but the program was nothin’ but army prep.” He fiddles with the gold saint’s pendant around his neck, still torn after all this time. “Pumped us full of God and the American Dream. My teachers said I had promise but found out real quick that didn’t really mean anything. So, I joined up, soon as I could. There just…wasn’t anywhere else for me to go.”

He pauses, rubs at the bridge of his nose where an ache is starting to form again. He’s not sure if he’s shared too much or not enough. The Home, he remembers vividly. It’s not something he’s ever going to forget, not the good or the bad. They were the makers and breakers of a younger Finn and he’s still not come full to terms with it. After joining though…

“I don’t really remember much after I joined. I know I finished boot, I was stationed somewhere in the desert, probably in ’65. I know I was shipped to Vietnam in ’68. But the middle bit is all…fuzzy. I don’t know why. I tried to tell some others, but no one took me seriously. Roswell reminds me of that base in the desert. It’s like I’ve been here. Memories just keep…slipping by. Nothing solid, just impressions. Feelings. The longer I’m here, the more I think I’ve been here before. But I can’t remember _why_.”

His head aches but he chances a glance at Poe to find him sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, rapt in attention. He’s not sure if that makes it better or worse. It might be the first time someone beside his squad-mate Slip actually listened and didn’t call him crazy or toked out of his head.

“And you can guess the rest. Gave ‘em almost ten years of my life,” he hedges, taking another drink. “Got a discharge and wound up here, just trying to forget. Apparently ended up doin’ the opposite.”

Poe hums, a noncommittal noise that’s becoming more familiar by the day. Finn expects him to press, to pick his brain for anything he can find. But, to his surprise, he doesn’t. Silence stretches between them for a bit, and at first it feels horrendously uncomfortable. But then Poe sighs, “I can’t imagine what that must be like,” and he sits back.

That’s something he’s never heard before. Right off, it makes him feel warm, strikes him some way, he’s just not sure what to think of it yet. It puts Finn at ease, like Poe can see his walls and figures he can coax them down a little more with the right body language. Finn would laugh at himself for thinking it, except that if Poe is doing it on purpose, he’d be right. Poe’s easy posture _does_ make him more comfortable, despite himself. So, he leans back and looks at the stars, letting the quiet sink in and hoping the headache seeps out. It lasts until Finn hears Poe’s empty bottle clink on the deck.

“I have trouble remembering sometimes. More since I’ve been here. Some little things, other big things,” Poe sighs. “Like my mother. She went missing about ten years ago. She was supposed to go investigate some new project, as a favor for a friend, and her plane was never reported or seen again. I’ve been lookin’ for her ever since.”

This time, Finn sits forward. His headache’s building but this sounds like an answer to the question he hasn’t asked.

“My dad, he looked for her for a long time, used his intelligence connections as far as they would take him. And I helped him. We finally narrowed it down to Roswell. Last year, he…packed it in, moved to Albuquerque, and I kept lookin’. Set up the shop. It’s funny. I can’t really remember what her smile looks like now.” Poe chokes a wet laugh at the last part and drops his head on the back of his deck chair, staring at the sky like it’s got all the answers. “Everything I’ve found points to her coming here. She was here to look into the lights, I’m sure of it. I kept a book, clues, pieces of information, weird stories from locals and travelers that might help me narrow it down. I keep thinkin’, just another day and I’ll find out what she did, what they do. There’s something bad out there in the sand. And maybe she’ll be there. Or some kind of answer will be.”

Something about that rings a sharp, painful bell in his head. The map appears in his mind. The door again. An idea, a repetitious refrain says _Walker, Walker, Walker Base._ Doors in the desert, secrets in the sand. He holds his head, sees Poe frown and lean for him, a hand grounding on his forearm.

“Poe,” Finn says slowly, painfully, “There’s…a door.”

A memory flashes white-hot, bright lights, the roar of voices impossibly loud. His head aches, spins, he nearly falls out of his chair.

“Whoa, hey, you good?”

Poe’s got a steadying hand on his shoulder, easing him back, and it takes a second to realize he’s gripping Poe’s wrist so hard his knuckles pale. There’s a levee breaking in his head, memories splintering and lodging in his eyes like so much busted glass. Images make his teeth clench tight, fearful. A bunker door in the sand, hallways, empty rooms. It’s too much, burning white-hot and he can’t make any out anything except bright light and sharp, stabbing pain.

“Finn, what the hell!”

His stomach lurches and just as he thinks he’s going to lose the beer he drank, it recedes. Sinking back into his head, leaving shards for him to gather like pieces of flotsam. He grabs onto one, holding to it. It’s important, it’s got to be.

A string of numbers.

“33, 17, 104, 31,” he mumbles. Fuck, that hurts. His head is still spinning, the numbers echoing in his ears. “33, 17—”

“What’re you sayin’?” Poe pries his hand away and pats his face. “What the hell does that mean?”

“104, 31…”

The first thing he registers is an ache in his jaw and the heat of Poe’s hand on his shoulder. He blinks a couple times, still trying to get the stars back in the sky where they belong, and he feels Poe’s thumb brush the base of his throat.

“Hey, c’mon back down, pal.”

With a steadying hand, Poe pulls him to his feet, guides him gently into the living room to the couch. Numbers are still rattling around in his head, even the dimmest light hammering railroad spikes into his eyes. Poe’s muttering something, it sounds soothing. He feels his shoulders meet couch cushions, a blanket settles over his legs and around his chin. As much as he tries, there’s nothing but the numbers and shattering, jilting memories trying to piece themselves together. He tries sitting up again, his head feels like it’s going to split, and Poe eases him down again.

The last thing he hears is Poe’s voice, low and tight. “It’s alright, take it easy, c’mon let’s get some rest, huh?”

Desperately, he wants to argue, the numbers seem so important but everything feels heavy and fuzzy at the edges and, quite against his will, he slips into darkness.

—

He doesn’t know what time it is, or where he is. It’s not the motel, it’s a couch. The light is back. Bright, blinding light just outside the sliding glass door. A hissing sound. A dog is barking. Oh. He's at Poe's house. BB-8 is barking, absolutely raging at whatever is out there.

_Fuck_.

Finn stumbles to his feet, weaving back and forth on a tempestuous sea of sensation. His head still aches, but the smell of car exhaust, of ozone and a sharp metallic underbite, is sneaking into his nose and lighting a panicked fire in his chest. BB-8’s gone quiet. On instinct, he reacts, hauling himself down the hall. There’s a few doors. The study, a bathroom, closet. An idea strikes him, he’s not even sure where it came from, but he’s positive it’ll work. At the end, Poe’s bedroom. With a lurch, he throws open the door to Poe’s room and stumbles to his side.

Poe flails as he shakes him awake. “Finn? Wha’ th’ hell are you doin’?”

“C’mon,” Finn manages. “Bathroom. Shower. We gotta go.”

“What? You’re not makin’ any sense.”

All he can do is shake his head and pull on Poe’s wrist, urging him to the door as the exhaust smell gets stronger.

“Look, buddy, I don’t smell that bad and if you’re gonna get me naked, can we at least wait until morning?”

“We’re in trouble, we gotta get somewhere safe. Jus’ trust me.”

That lights a fire under Poe’s ass and he’s scrambling out from under the covers. Christ, the gas is already making Finn slur, putting everything in a starry, dreamy state. Maybe he should just lay down, it’s all a dream anyway, right? He viciously shakes his head, yanking Poe to his feet and down the hall to the bathroom.

“What’s that smell? Where’s that comin’ from?”

Poe sounds a little more panicked. Finn throws the bathroom door shut and cranks on the shower, as hot as it’ll go, until steam is pouring into the tiny room. It’s sweltering, his clothes already starting to stick to him, and something is digging in his brain like the world’s rustiest knife, but he’s positive this will work.

“Get in,” he groans, hand to his head. “Get in the shower, don’t touch the water, ’s hot.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Poe grumbles, but does as he’s told anyway.

He angles the shower head down and Finn follows, closing the glass door to trap as much of the steam as he can. Poe’s tan skin is already turning pink in the heat, and Finn blearily realizes Poe’s nearly naked. That starts clearing his head almost as well as the steam, and he’s not sure if he’s thankful or not. Everything seems to be oozing by, thrumming with the throbbing in his head. He’s not sure how much time passes. The water’s not as hot and the noxious smell starts to die down. His head clears, enough that he notices Poe staring at him intently, and in the clarity, memories start pouring back in.

“Gas,” he croaks.

Poe blinks. “What d’you mean, ‘gas’?”

Finn takes a deep breath of the steamy air and shakes his head, trying to get a handle on himself. “Fuck, where do I even start?” He feels sick to his stomach, comprehension dawning in his gut. “It’s a drug, a—um, a hypnotic. The CIA has been developing it for years as a gas, like a way to alter memory. The beginnings of mind control.”

Poe’s eyes widen. “Finn, what the fuck. What the _fuck_ are you saying?”

“They’re spraying it in the house. It oxidizes, activates with electricity. Any spark would do it.”

Finn grips Poe by the biceps, desperate for him to understand, to have all the information even though it’s barely coalescing in his own head. Poe looks away, a line furrowing his brow, then a spark of realization. Poe’s eyes snap back, mouth works like he wants to say something but no words come out. 

“It's the sludge. The stuff you keep finding; it's leftover from the reaction. The weird stories. The electric parts, my watch—Poe, _I was here,_ ” Finn hisses.

Poe’s face shifts from confused to fearful to horrified. Finn’s stomach turns, old memories connecting and coming clear. His mouth gets away from him and once he’s started, the cache just pours out.

“My whole squad was here—Nines, Zero, Slip—stationed at Walker Base, a security detail. They didn’t tell us what for. Operations were normal on the surface. We guarded the underground, but we didn't know exactly what it was. At first. We knew it was a detention center, managed by a CIA group called the First Order. Dozens of people held there. We found out later what for.”

He stumbles, phantom electric sensation coruscating under his skin like insects. _Electroshock_. A slimy, suffocating feeling envelopes him, and it’s not the shower’s steam. _Jesus, what did they do to me?_

“Experimentation. We found out about the tests. Dug into their data rooms,” he chokes out. “Some project, some MK-something. We found the drug they were testing. They called it MKSEARCH. They were just starting to go above-ground with it, pumping it subsurface, using planes to spread it as an—a uh, an aerosol. We tried to get out, escaped out an emergency hatch into the desert. We figured they’d kill us. But they caught us.” His voice drops to a whisper, barely audible over the spray of the water. “They—held us in the detention center. For reconditioning. They couldn’t just kill us, not when we were such an _opportunity_ —” Poe’s hands come up, settle loosely, incredulously, at his elbows. “—so they tested the drug. When we couldn’t remember, they shipped us off to war. Insurance, if I had to guess. Surely we’d die out there.”

The last part slithers off his tongue and he’s distinctly aware that the words aren’t his own. Someone else had said that; he’d heard them. His brain had managed to hang on to at least that scrap. And whoever they were, they were right. His entire squad is gone. Ordered to take a village, rigged by their own people, as a trap. The only reason he isn’t dead is Nines, who found the trap first, blown sky high in a napalm blaze. The entire village just…splintered. A maelstrom engulfed them, heat searing on his back. The scar…

“Whoa, hey, buddy!”

He can feel as Poe scrabbles at him to keep him upright but his knees give out from under him and he slumps in the spray. It’s tepid now, juxtaposed with echoes of his back burning, dragging Slip as far as he could from the fire. He can’t breathe; it’s overwhelming. _It didn’t matter._ Hot tears spring in his eyes and mix with the water. Slip, what was left of him, hadn’t made it either. He hasn’t voluntarily thought about his squad, their deaths. Not since they’d shipped him home for treatment. Only saw them in nightmares. The sounds, the _smells_ —oh god, he’s spiraling in it, right down the drain. Distantly, he sees Poe kneel next to him, hands framing his jaw, pulling him back from a thousand miles away to the cooling shower.

“Finn!” He feels Poe’s thumb tracing a cheekbone, wiping away the water, the tears. “C’mon, come back here.”

His eyes are so dark, his brow pinched in real fear, but he’s solid. Present. Coaxing him down for the second time in a night. And it’s all Finn can do not to collapse into him. Instead, he takes hold of Poe’s wrists, desperate to let the memories go.

“That's it. It’s ok,” Poe murmurs. “Hey, it’s ok. You’re here. With me. You’re safe.”

He’s shivering now, the water gone cold, not sure how long they stay like that. His head feels like it’s being split open, fatigue heavy in every limb.

“Come on.” Poe urges him up, even though his knees wobble. He reaches for the faucet, hesitating to turn back and ask, “Do you think it’s safe?”

That’s enough to bring him back the rest of the way, the memories and sounds and smells fading back into his mind, leaving room for other pieces to filter through. He rubs at his forehead.

“How long have we been in here?”

“At least half an hour,” Poe murmurs, shifting so Finn is mostly out of the water, shivering himself but absorbing the majority of the water.

_Perfect_. “It should be ok.”

The gas disperses within thirty minutes, sometimes less. They timed it. It’s heavy, sinking beneath the air, he remembers. That’s why the steam worked to keep them conscious; it pushes the stuff down into a suffocating layer. Just another revelation of the tests; his captors _hated_ that one. Poe turns the water off and eases him out onto the bathmat. Finn feels floaty, separated from his body except for his head which still throbs in the quiet. There’s the sensation wet clothes peeling from his skin and he tries to help, clumsily shucking the chilled fabric. Poe follows with a towel, batting his hands away when he tries to help again. _Must not’ve been that helpful_ , he thinks blearily. He feels Poe hesitate at the long, jagged scar on his back, still pulled tight and new, but it’s only a moment. At some point, he’s dry, Poe’s helping him step into some pants that just fit, then he’s horizontal in a bed this time.

“I gotta stop doing this,” he croaks.

Everything’s starting to even out, so much so that he can actually focus on Poe’s face and the wan smile that breaks there.

“Doin’ what?”

Poe tucks a blanket around him, settling by his side.

“Passing out.”

Poe chuckles at that, but it’s a tight, drawn sound. “Yeah…that’s one way to get my attention. Wouldn’t say no to flowers, though. Less stressful,” he tries to joke.

Finn struggles to sit up. He’s exhausted, but there’s more Poe needs to know. He makes it about six inches then Poe’s hand settles on his chest, solid and comforting.

“Whatever it is, it can wait ’til morning.”

He blinks, surprised that Poe already knew what he was trying, voice soothing and easy in the gloom. He wants to argue, _he does_ , but heat is seeping back in, drawing him further to sleep.

“Just hold tight, I’ll be right back,” Poe murmurs, squeezing his hand as he rises.

He can hear Poe leave the room and he wants to be awake when he comes back, but before he knows it his eyes are slipping closed. Vaguely, he hears Poe come back in sometime later, the familiar jingle of BB-8’s tags. A warm body slides in next to him, curling close and holding him tight. It might be a dream. Surely, it’s a dream. No one’s ever held him like that and he just…sinks into it. It’s perfect. In all the mess floating around in his head now, at least there’s one thing to ground him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man i hoped that tracked
> 
> poor finn


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploaded from mobile, please lmk if there’s anything glaringly wrong!

Finn’s out before he even makes it back to the bedroom. BB-8 trails in after him, a little groggy and confused but no worse for wear. Finn might be out of commission but after that whole scene, Poe had been itching to check out the property. It was the work of a few minutes to load his pistol and check all the windows and doors. Nothing out of the ordinary there so he ventured out, flashlight in hand, to check the immediate surroundings. But there was nothing. Not a track, not a single disturbance. If he hadn’t smelled the gas himself, he’d think Finn had gone ‘round the bend. As it stands, the man is completely zonked out in Poe’s own bed, looking for all the world like he belongs there. And maybe a small part of Poe’s heart wishes he did. He just...wants to makes it all go away, keep Finn safe right where he is. The look in Finn’s eyes when his memories triggered, that thousand-yard stare. It’s not something Poe’s unfamiliar with. He’s seen the same look on his father’s face. When Kes would talk about his time overseas, about his wife… With a sigh, he settles into bed close to Finn. He’d wanted answers, but god what a way to get them. If there was gas in the house, that means they—whoever they are—have found him out. A sick realization hits him: they may have known the whole time. How many times could they have gassed him in the night and fogged his memory?

At that moment, he feels very small. When he was younger, Poe didn’t understand. As he got older, it made his blood burn to think about what his parents went through, what they did for the idea of freedom. It’s something he believes in whole-heartedly, but not the way it’s peddled and twisted for war. And now with Finn’s revelation, and his own suspicions, he feels even smaller. Even with the evidence they have together—the gas, the sightings, the testing—how could they possibly fight a war machine like this? One that experiments on their own people? Before he can help himself, he curls into Finn, wrapping an arm around his chest and burying his face in Finn’s back near the top of his scar. Can’t think like that. It may be his overactive optimism, but there’s gotta be something. There’s always something. Maybe Kes will know what to do with the info. Maybe the senator would be able to get something started… All ideas, all possibilities. Things to pursue, and it gives him hope to build on. But it takes a long time for sleep to find him.

No alarm goes off in the morning, and Poe wakes easy to sunlight and a warm body. He’s confused, bleary and disoriented, then he remembers. Finn tosses in bed next to him, BB-8 shuffles at his feet. For a second, he just wants to go back to sleep, to forget that there’s a big bad world out there. But things need doing. He remembers something his mother would say. Rebellion starts with the smallest acts; even something as small as getting out of bed is a step. It helps. If he can manage that, he can start working on a plan to take down this First Order group and their terrifying work. There’s gotta be a way to get in and get some hard evidence. But, baby steps.

He rolls onto his side, indulgently sliding a hand over Finn’s warm skin to gently ease him awake. It’s going to be a rough day, might as well start easy.

“Don’t tell me it’s morning already,” Finn mumbles. “I never wanna move from this spot.”

Poe snorts. “And we didn’t even get to the good stuff.”

Finn smiles up at him, but it’s a small, fragile thing. He brushes an errant curl from Poe’s forehead, a tender touch. “Are you ok?”

Poe resists the urge to kiss Finn’s fingertips as they slide down his jaw. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m ok. I really should be askin’ you that, though.”

“I think this is the first time in years I’ve woken up without some kind of headache, so there’s that.”

“Do you—” Christ, he hates to ask when the day is still so young. “Do you remember much from last night? The lights or the gas?”

He sees a muscle flex in Finn’s jaw as he clenches his teeth and that gives him his answer even before Finn says, “I do. I think most everything is back. There’s still bits and pieces missing but I think I get the gist.” The sheets rustle as Finn turns to face him. “Poe, we’ve gotta do something.”

There’s that brainwave again, putting them on the same trail before Poe even has a chance to ask. But, just in case, he does anyway. “You’ll help me?”

Finn sits up all the way, hard resolution setting on his face. “How could I not?”

“Let’s get started then.”

Finn makes his way to the kitchen, donning a borrowed shirt while Poe makes a stop to throw Finn’s soaked clothes in the dryer. He finds Finn perched on a barstool, and his stomach flips. Despite the seriousness of what they’re about to do, seeing Finn there—in his home, in his clothes—almost makes him want to call the whole thing off. If only for an instant. He’s asking a lot of Finn, he knows, but he can also see a steeliness that hardens his own resolve. He likes it. Admires it, even. It’s too early to call it love, but it’s something, and in the back of his mind he hopes they’ll have time to find out exactly what it is. Finn’s brow is drawn, deeply invested in drawing on a scratch piece of paper. Poe waits. He turns on the radio, bustles around making coffee and some breakfast. He can be patient, and it's better to have something to do with his hands.

“Do you have another map of the base?”

Poe nods, tossing his head back down the hall and flipping some eggs. “Top drawer on the right in my desk.”

Finn doesn’t say another word but by the time he comes back and finishes his drawing, the eggs and toast Poe fried are done. He murmurs a soft, “Thanks,” as Poe pours him a cup of coffee and together, they lean over the map, shoulders touching, Space Oddity playing soft in the background.

“So, the base extends to the fence bordering Highway 285. There’s about 12 miles of it on the perimeter, right?”

“Yeah. I’ve driven it enough to say that’s a good number. There’s a road that borders the fence on all sides but only two entry points.”

“Right. But look here.” Finn traces a line on the map, just along the southern edge of the base. “This access road. YO Crossing. If we take it halfway, it leads to the far end of the airfield. There’s a door. An access to the underground facility in the airfield. That’s where my—my team and I got out the first time.” He frowns, staring at the map and Poe doesn’t miss the way his words stumble. “I’m trying to remember exactly where.”

Poe glances over the map. There’s something tickling at the back of his brain and it takes a second for it to kick in. When it does, the eggs about fall right out of his mouth.

“The numbers.”

Finn looks totally lost and he scrambles to get it out.

“The numbers! The ones you were sayin’ last night. 33, 107—” He fumbles with the map, snatching the pencil from Finn’s fingers. Latitude and longitude are marked along the edges and he follows each line: 33 degrees north, 107 degrees west. “Fuck, what were the rest? The minutes. 18? 35?”

Finn shakes his head, leaning next to him anxiously. “No, no, close; I think it was 33, 17, 107, 33.”

“Hold on.” Poe sprints to his office and grabs his notebook and a ruler. There in the pages were the coordinates, just as Finn said. “I wrote them after I got you to the couch,” he admits. “They sounded important.”

With a smack, he aligns the ruler against the coordinate bands and draws two thick lines while Finn eats. Where they meet is just where Finn said: dead center of the airfield.

“Guess we know where to get in,” he murmurs.

Finn pulls the drawing alongside the map and gestures to the outline. It’s a rough octagonal structure, with two lines leading out. He motions for the pencil and marks north on the drawing, then an X over one of the rooms as Poe finishes the last of his breakfast.

“This is where we need to be,” Finn says. “We were set on guard rotation in the corridors, so we had to memorize the routes. When we were first trying to get out, we ran across these rooms. Data filing, if I remember right. Hundreds of filing cabinets, towers of data like you wouldn’t believe. There’s gotta be something in there we can use. But the question is, who do we get it to if we do find it?”

“I got an idea for that. An old friend of the family, a senator. She might have some sway, or at least give us a place to start.”

“We should take photographs of the interior, of the documents. Just to be safe. You got a camera?”

Poe nods. “Sure, and plenty of film. I’ve been tryin’ to catch those craft for years, remember?”

“Right…” Finn trails off. “I gotta be honest with you, I have no idea what those are. It must’ve come after we were caught, or was a different part of the base altogether. I never saw anything like it and whatever they are scares the shit outta me.”

Poe purses his lips. “Because of how they fly?” He’s pretty sure he knows where Finn’s going with this. “They’re using these quiet craft as a new way to get the gas out, aren’t they?”

Finn nods, a dark look settling on his face. “It’s the only way they’d be able to get the toxin into the town large scale. I’m positive that they’re taking the MKSEARCH tests to a larger audience, and Roswell is their test site. I know I saw the lights in town, near the motel—thought it was a dream. And the gas is dense enough it’ll sink through the air. It’d be easy enough to pump it near a central air unit to get it inside. Who knows where else they’ve been going.”

“It would make sense. Get a silent way to test large crowds, observe the effects in the long term. They can’t go making changes in everyone’s houses but they could use these for tests at night when no one’s paying attention anyway. Then bam, anyone who wakes up does get dosed anyway, falls unconscious.”

“So what about the ones that happened during the day?” Finn frowns. “They may have fancy ships but surely they can’t hide in broad daylight. I was driving, remember? You’ve had other cases where the same thing happened, right?”

Poe has to admit, it stumps him. It dawns on him slowly, a possibility. “You said they were just starting to go above-ground with it when you and your squad found the facility, right?” He pauses, shakes his head. Surely, it’s not that simple. But, “What if it’s a leak?”

Finn raises a skeptical eyebrow. “A leak?”

“Sure. You said they were piping the gas, right? If they’re makin’ this shit on a mass scale, they’ve gotta store it somewhere. So they pipe it off-site and some of it leaks. Look—”

He pops up from the counter with his notebook, motioning for Finn to follow back to the study. Inside, he frantically points to clusters on the map around Walker Base, talking faster each second.

“Look here. The trailer park on the north side of the base has tons of reports of weird sightings and strange things happening but between the base and town there’s a big stretch of empty. Perfect for storage. There’s more out by the highway, heading east past the gravel pits into the scrub where no one would ever go anyway. So the pipes run under the road, they bust, and the leak gets people in the daytime.” Surely it can’t be a coincidence. He checks his book, and he finds a note. “There were additions made to the base in the early sixties, some road construction through the area. I mean, it’s the government, they’re bound to fuck something up. It all lines up. They’re storing the materials off-site.”

Finn heaves a deep sigh, staring at the map. “I can’t believe this,” he breathes. “We’ve got to get some proof.”

Poe turns to look at Finn, spreading his hands. “We’ve got a way in.”

“We could take my bike,” Finn says slowly. “The part comes in today, right? We get it fixed, we’re a smaller target. So we cut in the fence, slip in the back door—”

“And no one’s the wiser,” Poe finishes, a smile spreading over his face as he nods. “We’re gonna do this.”

“Poe, this is gonna be so dangerous,” Finn murmurs, taking a step closer. “They’ll have cameras on site, we’ll have to cover our faces, work fast. You know what’s gonna happen if they catch us, right? They’ll gas us, maybe even just kill us.” He reaches for Poe but seems to think better of it, clenching a hand at his side instead. “I don’t want to forget you. And I don’t want you hurt.”

“Finn, I have to do something. If there’s anything that can be done to show what happened to you, what probably happened to my mom, I’ve gotta do it.” Poe’s words dry up for a second and all he can do is meet Finn halfway. He squeezes Finn’s hand, trying to get across just what that makes him feel. “This can’t happen to anyone else.”

Finn’s mouth narrows but he squeezes back at last. “Then I’m with you,” he says. “As far as we can go.”

“We go all the way. And when we’re done, maybe we try that date again, huh? No weird ship distraction, guaranteed.”

Finally, Finn smiles. “I’d like that.” His eyes slide to Poe’s mouth, hand loosens to settle on Poe’s hip. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For believing me.”

“Isn’t that my line?” Poe’s mouth feels incredibly dry and holy hell, where did the space between them go? “I mean, of the two of us, I definitely look like the tin-hatter around here.”

Finn nods, but the corner of his mouth lifts with a wry grin. Jesus, never mind the space, where did the air go? “You really do. But I’d still like to kiss you, in case I don’t get to do it again.”

“‘m not gonna let you if you keep with that attitude.”

It’s a lie. A bold-faced lie and Finn calls his bluff.

“Yeah?”

Their noses brush and Poe can’t help sucking air through his teeth when Finn pushes him flush and close and warm. Still, he keeps going. Christ, if any time would be good to shut his mouth—

“I don’t do goodbye kisses.”

“Then, it’s not goodbye.”

“It better not be.”

That’s it. There’s just centimeters left and he can’t stand it. He wraps his arms around Finn’s neck, dragging him in the rest of the way, sliding their lips together in move so fervid it makes his head spin. Finn angles him to the side and back, so his shoulders meet the maps on his wall and he groans a little at the pressure. His tongue presses at the seam of Finn’s lips, dips in to warm, wonderful heat, it’s all he can do to suck in a breath before diving in again. It’s ardent, it’s wicked, a little bit desperate and almost like a promise. But, he hears the buzzer on the dryer and Finn eases back, looking a little starry-eyed, hands still resting easy on Poe’s sides, thumbing a pattern into his skin where his shirt’s ridden up.

“Not a goodbye kiss,” Poe murmurs, bumping his forehead gently against Finn's. “You owe me a date.”

Finn bites his lip and steps away, eyes darker than before but resolute. “Then let’s get this over with. I don’t want to wonder about what comes after.”

“I promise you’ll like it,” Poe grins, tossing him a wink just to lighten the mood.

Finn laughs and shakes his head and that’s that. While Finn pulls his clothes from the dryer and dresses, Poe fills a bag with anything he can think of that may be useful. The camera, lock-pick kit, flashlights, kerchiefs, wire-cutters. Maybe a pry bar, just in case. Some other bits and bobs. He decides to leave the notebook behind, gathers as much of the evidence he’s collected as he can and stashes it in plastic bags in the crawlspace. If they do get found out, he’d rather not chance their only clues being discovered right off. It’s agreed they should go about business as usual, so as not to arouse suspicion. Go in the evening for the cover of darkness.

Before they leave, he puts BB-8 back on his lead, sets out plenty of food and water. The dog seems to know something’s up and he whines.

“I know, buddy.” Poe kneels and scratches his ears, kisses the top of his head. “We’ll be back, I promise.”

He can see BB-8 watching dolefully from the yard as they pull away and his heart breaks just a bit. But this sort of thing is no place for a dog, so safe home he will stay.

They make it to the shop by noon, when he was supposed to come in anyway, after a short stop at the motel to get Finn’s meager belongings. The rest of the day only serves to build the apprehension in his gut. Which is not good. At all. There’s a steady stream of cars in and out serving as a decent distraction. The part for Finn’s bike comes in around 4:00, but with Snap gone, he has to put it on himself. Finn helps as much he can, finding tools around the shop that Poe needs, snagging spark plugs from the supply. It’s really a team effort, Finn consulting the manual while Poe works, but it’s soothing. A much better distraction than anything else. And when the bike starts without a hitch, it feels like some part of plan might actually work. Then it’s 6:00, and there’s nothing left to do but wait. He calls Snap to check in on BB-8 in a few days, just in case, but he’s still sick. Karé reveals it might be more than just the flu. Headaches, lethargy, vomiting. And some memory loss from the last few days. The way it sounds, Snap can barely remember his own name at the moment. From the look on Finn’s face when he relays the news, it’s the side effects. Which means Snap was gassed. Karé too. Anger burns hot in his blood. They’re his family, hurting, and he can’t stand it.

Just another reason to stop this whole thing.

Evening.

It's time to go.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update bc 😈😱

Finn’s almost shaking with anticipation. Poe’s knees are tucked behind his, an arm wrapped securely around his middle as he drives, and the Honda rides smooth down the highway. For an instant, he wishes he were driving anywhere else. Oregon, Maryland, even a Midwest cornfield for fuck’s sake. Then, things are a little less smooth once they turn onto YO Crossing, making Poe cling to him a little tighter, and he really has to focus. The contact is grounding, he’ll have to admit. Otherwise all of this would be too surreal. In his head, he’s already tracking the distance, possible escape routes through the desert scrub. Thankfully, the moon is high and bright and he can navigate the dirt road with just a flashlight instead of the headlight. Better to be as invisible as possible. It’s five miles from the highway to the right longitude, half a mile from the fence-line to the bunker door. He’s still not sure exactly how they’re going to get in, there’s not much cover in the scrubland, but Poe’s confident he can pick whatever lock they find.

Once they reach the right spot, or at least what he’s pretty sure is the right spot, he cuts the engine and rolls to a stop. The fence and the road border a fairly deep ditch, so once Poe slides off, he eases the bike into the trench, positioning it for a quick getaway. Hopefully they’ll have a chance to use it. Poe’s already clipping at the fence, making a place just big enough for them to fit through.

“You ready?” he murmurs.

“Yeah…” The moonlight highlights the lines in the Poe’s jaw, plainly exposing the nervous clench of his teeth. “Let’s go.”

Finn’s first through the opening, Poe close behind. He jogs at a stoop, keeping an eye sharp for the door in the gloom. They can’t use the flashlights yet, there’s not enough cover. The scrubland’s gone to shit since the official close of the base. Runways they skirt are cracked and broken, sand settling on surfaces plants won’t grow. Mounds and patchy undergrowth dot the area. Deep crevasses mark erosion and neglect, prove difficult to navigate but could maybe be cover if they need it. At last, the door emerges from the dark, half-buried in sand and brush, tucked away at the end of a landing strip into a small mound. If he hadn’t seen the strange ships, the lights coming from the area, Finn really would be convinced of the abandoned facade. He just hopes the inside is still the way he remembers.

He feels incredibly naked in this situation with no weapon, but better to be caught without one. Shooting anyone on site would be the fastest way to land in a no-name cell somewhere to rot. Thankfully, there’s no extra security measures. Just a door, and a rusted set of padlocks obviously added later. Almost an afterthought. Poe kneels at the handle and fishes something out of his pack, fitting a flashlight between his teeth. Finn stands in front of him, trying to block the light.

“Think you can get that open?”

He gets his answer as one of the locks pops open with a click.

“That’s shifty, you know that’s shifty right?” he whispers. A rustle in the brush makes his heart leap but there’s nothing. His nerves are getting to him already. “How do you know how to do that?”

Another lock snaps open. “Remind me to tell you when we get outta here. It’s a pretty funny story actually, with handcuffs and a bitch of an ex-boyfriend.”

Finn scoffs and shifts, watching the sky. “I hate that I can’t tell if you’re full of shit or not.”

He hears the handle lock tumble and snik. He turns just as Poe pops to his feet, standing chest to chest in the dark. “Sweetheart, I’m never full of shit.” His eyes glitter in the moonlight as he grins. “I smell like roses always.”

“Ok, now I know you’re full of it.” Finn’s not sure whether to be exasperated or charmed. Poe’s clearly a battlefield flirt and it’d be distracting as all hell if the bunker door wasn’t opening with a horrendous creak. Finn tries not to hop back and forth. Instead, he shakes his hands out, hoping some of the nervous energy will go with them. “Ok, follow me in. Stay tight to the wall. There used to be a camera at every junction but who knows if they’re still working or if they’ve added more. I’d guess we have about thirty minutes to get in, get something, and get out. You ready?”

Poe hands him a kerchief and a pair of gloves from his pack. All the teasing’s left Poe’s face and Finn sees that nervous jaw clench again, but he nods as he ties the kerchief around his face, readies his camera in his hands.

“Ok.”

He doesn’t wait any more. He can’t, he’s sure he’ll lose his nerve if he does. With a deep breath, he darts inside.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, they’re really doing this. The door opens to a dim, off-white hallway, tiled and decrepit and used. It stretches on, at the first junction he veers left. Then right, then left again. Poe’s camera clicks steadily behind him. Not too often, flash off, only in the brighter pools of light. Door after door passes on either side, unmarked, gray and set deep in the wall. Shit, he hopes this is the right way. It’s been years, what if he’s wrong? He _does_ take a wrong turn, but only once. They double back, and just as he’s about to turn back again, something familiar sparks in his memory. The doors haven't changed, they just have new labels now. Just with code, jumbles of letters and numbers he doesn’t know the meaning of, but he recognizes one. X-I, painted in a fading white. It’s the door he went through the first time, standing clear in his memory now that it’s back.

“Here!” he hisses, and Poe’s already sliding to his knees.

It feels like forever but it can’t be more than a minute before the lock clicks open and they slide inside. The room reveals just what he remembers: miles and miles of paperwork. Shelves with boxes form neat, orderly lines from floor to ceiling. Poe’s camera snaps again as a soft, “Whoa,” escapes him.

“You go right, I’ll go left. Ten minutes, no more than that.”

Poe nods firmly and dashes into a row. Finn’s not sure what they’re looking for, but something is better than nothing. The room is dim, barely lit by flickering fluorescent lights. His flashlight comes on with a click and he hurries down the rows. Box after box pass, labeled now Z, Y-Z, Y, X-Y, X. He makes his way to M. Maybe there’s a file on the gas. Surely, there would be. MM, ML, MK—there! He stops, pulls open a box and rifles through it. Nothing. MKSEARCH. There are names, though. Dozens of names. He tears one file out, tucks it under his arm and tries another box. More names, some aircraft details. Nothing new, just old plans, but he snags a few anyway. At last, miraculously, he finds what he’s looking for. A manila folder stares him down from the lowest box, red lettering on the label tab reading: MKSEARCH, AEROSOL. Fuck, there’s at least five separate folders. He grabs them all.

He rounds the corner at the end of the row, pulls another random set of folders from the G and H row for good measure. But no Poe. He frowns, makes his way to the next row. Still no Poe. Panic starts to build in his chest until he gets to the last row. The A-B row. About halfway down, Poe’s standing, bathed in sickly white light, skin washed out pale beneath his tan tone, a file shaking in his hands.

“Poe!” he hisses. Poe doesn’t move, so he trots down the row toward him. “Poe, what’s going on? Are you alright?”

It’s then that he notices the name on the file and realization dawns heavy on him just as Poe scrapes out, “It’s—it’s my mom. Finn. She’s still here.”

Silence echoes in the rows for a few long seconds before Poe can finish processing. “She’s been here. For years. All this time. She didn’t even have any information but they kept her.”

Finn’s eyes rove over the paperwork and he can’t help wincing. There’s a laundry list of drugs with dates close to 1965, 1966, when Poe said she’d first disappeared. Finn’s no chemist, but none of it sounds good. Then, it drops off. Few entries exist after that, with only one drug listed on the test. Shit, given the time frame, Finn may even have seen her during his own captive stay. The penultimate entry, dated September 1973, just over a year ago and before Finn’s own discharge, reads:

_S. Bey remanded to First Order custody. Neurological studies negative; no pertinent information available, long-term effects yet to be found. Further observation required. Subject should be considered dangerous. Flight risk. Multiple escape attempts noted. Discontinue MKSEARCH testing, record final effects._

The final entry is blank. For a second, Finn is as stupefied as Poe, but he shakes himself out of it and reads over the file again.

“There,” he says, jabbing his finger at a number at the top of the page. “That’s the cell block. AA-23.”

He glances at his wrist, then remembers that his watch isn’t there and scrambles for the one on Poe’s wrist. Fifteen minutes.

“We have to get her.”

Poe’s voice is low, tight, and part of Finn wants to argue. There’s not enough time, not if they want to make it out undiscovered. But Poe looks stricken, devastatingly hopeful, and the voice that wants to argue is served a quick death. Finn snatches the file from Poe’s hands. He motions for Poe to take pictures of it, along with all the others, before stuffing them into the bag slung over Poe’s back.

“I think I remember how to get there,” he murmurs. “C’mon, we gotta hurry.”

Finn peeks back out into the hall, checks left, then right, then darts out. This way is a little foggier, but he kind of remembers the way. He follows the hall straight, then takes a left. No. Wrong way. These doors aren’t familiar. He doubles back, Poe in tow, and tries straight. Fuck, he’s not sure but he follows his gut and goes straight through the other two junctions. To his surprise, there are fewer cameras than before. At least one juncture is missing its camera. Maybe that will play to their advantage. He can only hope.

At last, a set of double doors appear at the end of a long hallway, each marked with a large white A. He tries the doors, finds them unlocked, much to his surprise. Inside, the numbers on the doors are black, standing in stark contrast to the pale greys and whites and fading yellows. Tiny observation windows reveal dozens of figures, he hears Poe's camera clicking like crazy, but Finn doesn’t stop until he gets to number 23.

And there, on the other side of the glass, is who he assumes to be Shara Bey, laying asleep on a white cot at the far edge of the room.

Poe sucks in a sharp breath, shoving the camera into Finn's hands and scrambling for his lock-pick kit. Finn can see his hands are shaking as he works the dual mechanism on the door, but he turns, pulling the pry bar from Poe satchel. Widening his stance to hide as much of Poe from view as possible, he pulls the camera strap over his head and wields the bar in front of him like some kind of weapon. Better than nothing at this point. There are cameras here, one at each end of the hallway. There’s no way they’ve gone unnoticed and Finn can feel the time slipping through his fingers. He hears one lock pop, glances over his shoulder.

He frowns. “Poe?”

Poe doesn’t stop working on the lock, just makes a querying noise low in his throat.

“Poe, she’s gone.”

Poe’s hands fumble with the last lock but it clicks. And as soon as it, the door flies open.

Finn’s flat on his face before he’s even registered what hit him. A woman’s voice is shouting, loud in the empty corridor. He throws his hands up, trying to cover his head from the flurry of blows raining down in the vicinity. He wriggles to flip over, and her fist connects with his face. Poe’s yelling, tussling with her. He peels her off Finn’s back, arms wrapped tight behind her elbows. Finn tastes a little blood, his lip aches, but he finally manages to sit upright, scrambling for the pry bar. When he turns, the sight that greets him is all at once terrifying and heartbreaking.

Shara Bey is thrashing in Poe’s grip. He’s murmuring to her, soft and low in Spanish, but her familiar brown eyes are still wide and wild. Her hair is long and somewhat matted, greasy like she hasn’t seen a shower in a while, her white prison jumpsuit yellowed with age. And she’s thin. Rail thin, like she’s been riding the edge of starvation, tan skin sallow with it. Finn lets the pry bar down and eases his hands up.

“It’s ok, Shara,” he says, eyes flickering to Poe. When he nods, Finn continues. “We’re friends. I’m a friend. I’m here with your son.”

“Soy yo, mamá,” Poe murmurs, stroking her hair back from her face with the hand that's not pinning her arms. “Soy yo, tu hijo. ¿Recuerdas a tu hijo, mamá?”

At last, she seems to settle, fighting to look over her shoulder where Poe is trapped between her and the wall. He lets her go. Finn flinches at her jerky movements, but Poe throws out a warning hand and settles on his knees in front of her. He gathers her hands, holding them gingerly, until she finally slumps. Shock is plain on her thin face, her lip trembles, eyes searching Poe's face like she can't believe he's real. Her hands come to rest shakily on either side of his face. Tears well in her eyes, and she chokes, “¿Mi hijo? Poe? ¿De verdad eres tú?”

Poe covers his mother’s hands with his own, nods. “It’s really me, Mom. You remember?”

Finn feels a lump in his throat at the broken way Poe asks but it’s clear. Shara throws her arms around Poe’s shoulders and wails.

“How could I forget? I never thought I’d see you again,” she sobs, fisting her hands tight in Poe’s shirt. “Mi hijo, mi cielo, what are you _doing_ here?”

Other inmates on the cellblock hear her cries and start shrieking themselves. A red, spiraling light ignites in the ceiling. Finn’s eyes meet Poe’s and in an instant, they’re scrambling to their feet.

“Come on, we gotta go!” Finn shouts, right as Poe says, “Mom, we need to leave. We’re gettin’ you out of here.”

Everything happens in a blur. Finn sprints down the corridors, camera bouncing on his chest, hand sweating around the pry bar. Poe and Shara are just behind. At some point, he has to slow, Shara's energy is flagging. They round a corner, and Finn can't help a cry of surprise, Poe shouts a warning--

"Finn!"

A guard nearly runs head-on into them. He reacts on instinct. The pry bar rattles in his hands, connects with the guards helmet. Not hard enough to kill, but definitely enough to stun; the guard crumples. A left, then a right. He spies another set of patrols at the end of the corridor and he drags Poe and Shara down another before they're noticed. Fuck, he hopes he remembers the way. Another right, through a set of double doors, right again, and miraculously, the door appears.

He reaches for the handle and gunfire erupts behind him. Someone's shouting--the guards, he thinks--bullets ricochet off the concrete walls. He shoves the door open, pulls Shara through, reaches for Poe but hears him cry out.

"Shit!"

He snatches Poe's wrist and yanks him through the door. It's dark, but not so dark he can't see blood blooming on Poe's left bicep. Poe stumbles, sinks to his knees on the other side, Shara is shouting at him in frantic Spanish. Finn forces the rusted door shut, puts the padlock back in place for good measure. He turns, and his stomach falls out from under him. Shara has her hands around Poe's arm, fingers black with blood in the moonlight. His training, all that time spent sewing soldiers back together in the bush feels useless in that moment. There's no supplies. Poe's still bleeding. Then, it passes and clarity comes. Finn kneels at his side, pulling down his kerchief.

"Poe, breathe. Just breathe," he says.

"Ok, ok," Poe groans, and obliges by sucking in a deep gasp.

"How bad?"

"It's fine. More of a graze, passed through just under the skin, I think."

Finn hums, unties the kerchief around Poe's face and twists it into a tight strip. "Bite down on this."

Poe doesn't argue, clenching the fabric tight between his teeth, panting. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Shara glancing back and forth between them, but she makes no move to stop him. With deft fingers, he unties the kerchief from his own face. From Poe's satchel, he pulls an extra fabric square he'd packed and a flashlight.

"Hold this," he says, shoving the flashlight at Shara.

She does so without a word. The light shakes, but it's better than nothing. He can see where Poe's been hit and his stomach turns. Poe's right, though. The bullet passed just under the surface. His skin is torn and ragged under his denim overshirt. It’s bad but Finn's seen much worse. But for a civilian, this has to be shocking. While he folds the spare kerchief into a tight square he says,

"Ok, Poe. I need you to breathe with me. I'm going to count and I need you to follow along. Can you do that?" He doesn't wait for an answer; Poe will do it. "Ok, in--one, two, three, four." He settles the folded square against the wound. "Out--one, two, three, four. In again. Shara, hold here." He fits his kerchief around Poe's bicep, puts her hand on the square. "Ready, Poe? In--one, two, three--" He tightens the fabric around the gash and Poe's breath stutters. "No, c'mon. Three, four. Breathe out, one, two, three, four." He tightens the fabric again, starts a knot. "Last one. In--two, three, four." The knot pulls tight and he finishes with a second as he says, "Out, two, three, four."

Poe looks a little pale in the light of the flashlight, sweating a bit with shock, but it's done. Some of the glassiness starts to leave his eyes and Finn stashes the light in his back pocket.

"C'mon, we gotta go," he says again, easing Poe to his feet as he speaks. "You good?"

"Yeah," Poe groans. He takes another steadying breath. "I'm good."

Without another word, Poe turns, tossing his head south and taking his mother's hand, leading the way back to the bike. Finn can't help a glow of admiration. Absently, he's not sure how all three of them will fit on the bike--it's not something he planned for--but surely they'll make something work. They're nearly halfway to the fence, picking their way as fast as possible through the brush. Hope starts rising in his chest. Did they really do this? Did they actually pull it off, and steal a whole-ass person in the process?

For an instant, Finn's ecstatic. Then, he hears it.

Chopper blades cut the air, moving their way fast. Apparently, they're not worthy enough to break out the fancy ships, but helicopters will do just as well. They're quick. They have guns. And they're fucked.

"Down!" he shouts. "Get down!" Just as a search light passes behind them.

He sees Poe drop underneath the largest scrub near him, pulling Shara down with him. Finn crouches and dives, urging them a little further to the crevasse just beyond. Rocks scrape his legs and sides as he slides into the opening, but there's just enough space to press back into the rock wall and hide from aerial view. Poe follows, together they help Shara into the space. Finn winces for her; the prison jumpsuit offers little protection but she makes it down. Poe tucks her farther back into the space with his right hand, throwing a protective arm over Finn's chest with his left. The sound of chopper blades nears, dirt and grit kick up into his eyes as it passes over. 

"Looks like the welcoming committee finally got the memo!" Poe shouts over the noise.

The lights pass back and forth overhead, then away, scanning the area surrounding the crevasse. Finn's doesn't know if they've been seen or not, he can't be sure.

"What do we do?" Shara asks. Finn can see she's shaking around Poe's shoulder but a familiar resolute look has settled on her face and Finn doesn't have to wonder where Poe got that expression now. "There's no way out of here!"

He peeks his head out from the overhang.

She's right.

"We could wait 'em out," he says, even though he knows it wouldn't really work.

Poe seems to sense the bad news and his lip draws back over his teeth in a snarl. "Won't work," he echoes. "They'll be sending more out any second."

Finn racks his brain. There's gotta be something. Some path he missed, something they can do to forestall the stupid, god-awful plan he can see working it's way over Poe's face.

But there's nothing. There really is no way out without being seen. If they'd stayed in the scrub above, they would've been made already. There's just not enough cover. The helicopter sounds farther away now, but as soon as they break for it, they'll be seen. No doubt about it. Poe turns to him, clutching the gash on his arm, and Finn's already shaking his head.

"No--"

"Finn, you know what's gotta happen here."

He does. And he hates it. "No. No way. Let me do it."

Poe shakes his head and leans closer, lowering his voice to say, "I can't do that. You know I can't. I couldn't drive the bike, anyway."

Finn curses himself and every brain cell that gave him that stupid idea. "Poe--"

"I get out there. Hide for as long as I can then draw their attention. You and my mom slip out, and I'll follow later. There's gotta be more holes like this out there for me to hide in. Besides, I can charm my way outta anything."

Poe smiles roguishly but Finn can see just how brittle it is.

"You go to Albuquerque. Find my dad, Kes. He's at 2916 Santa Clara Avenue. If he's not there, find L'ulo L'ampar, my uncle. He runs a shop on Menaul Boulevard. They'll help you. You gotta get my mom somewhere safe, get her some help." Poe slips the camera from Finn's neck, wrapping the lanyard around it and tucking it into his pack before handing it over. "You have to get this outta here."

Finn's hands feel numb as Poe turns to his mother, murmuring to her in Spanish as the same horrible realization breaks over her face. Finn can hear her protests, but he's still reeling, thinking. He can't even get the satchel over his shoulder. There has to be a way to avoid this. But the longer he thinks, the more he realizes with a sick feeling that Poe is right.

Poe turns back to him with a strange expression. Finn can't place it, but it looks a little something like regret. A little like something else. Poe shoulders the satchel for him, fitting the strap tight to his chest and letting his fingers linger there. Finn catches Poe’s eyes, wishing his brain would make some goddamn words, but Poe presses in and kisses him, short and hot and tender, and any words he could’ve made evaporate.

Poe pulls back, eyes flinty in the moonlight. “This isn’t goodbye.”

It sounds like a lie. A bold-faced lie. But Finn can’t call him on it.

“You don’t do goodbye kisses, right?” is what he says instead.

Poe smiles, and it _hurts_. “Right.” He searches Finn’s face, bites his lip. Slips the pry bar from Finn’s hands. Then, he nods decisively and says, “Give me five minutes. I’ll get clear and you run for it.”

He turns, but Finn can’t let him go just yet. He catches Poe’s uninjured arm in a tight grip. “I’ll see you there?” It comes out a question and he hates that, too.

Poe squeezes his forearm in return and gives him one last smile.

“See you there.”

Then, he’s gone. Scrambles back up the side of the crevasse and out. Finn closes his eyes and waits. He hears it. The chopper is changing tack, coming back to their location then pulling west, it sounds like. He peeks out from under the overhang, climbs to the top of the ditch. He’s right. The helicopter is swinging wildly from side to side, headed in the opposite direction from their hiding spot.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

He pulls himself the rest of the way out and helps Shara to the surface. Her face is hard, and for a second, he doesn’t realize what’s happening. Then, she darts off, heading in the direction of the helicopter lights and her son.

“Wait! Shara, wait!”

It’s a matter of seconds before he catches her, exhausted as she is, but still she fights.

“We can’t leave him out there,” she rages, thrashing in his grip. It’s all he can do to hold on to her and wrestle her away from the light. “We have to get him back! That’s my son! We—”

“I _know_ , ok?” Finn grips her arms tight and shakes her, hoping to shake some sense into her before they’re noticed. “I know. But you can’t just go following him. Or all this will be for nothing. You have to get out of here so you can stop this. I’ll help you. This is all riding on us. Poe will be fine.”

It hurts to say it, it feels like a lie to her and to himself, but he has to keep saying it. Maybe it’ll be true.

“He’ll be fine.”

She fights a few seconds more before a crestfallen expression slides down her face. She pants, tears choking her eyes, her throat, but at last she nods. Finn holds her hand tight and they go together. He runs at a stoop, trying to keep himself as small as possible. The satchel bounces against his hip, Shara pants beside him. He can see the fence. The opening is more left of their trajectory, he pulls her in the right direction. They crash into the fence, metal jangling in the dark, but he holds the cut open as far as he can to let her through. He’s out, his bike’s still there. She starts with a cough but start she does. Shara jumps on behind him, he’s just pulling out of the ditch and—

Gunfire.

Fear, despair pull tight in his chest as he cranks the throttle. Shara is turned, screaming back at the airfield, the wind whipping her cries into the night. But he can’t look back himself. He won’t. _He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine_ is the mantra he repeats, pushing the bike as fast as he dares over the gravel road, then faster still when they reach the highway. Out on the blacktop, he shifts into the highest gear, running full out, throttle wide open until they’re miles away. Then, and only then, does he turn on the headlight and realize that Shara is sobbing into his back.

Some tears escape his own eyes. But, he firmly tells himself it’s the wind.

It’s only the wind.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man I hope this end doesn’t ruin it

It’s close to 4AM before he rolls into Albuquerque, and he only knows that by the time displayed on a bank sign. He’s frozen, even through his leather jacket. Exhaustion sits heavy in his limbs. It’s been nearly three hours, and Shara Bey has finally stopped crying. Now, she’s slumped into his back, barely hanging on as he winds through the streets. He really has no idea where he’s going and there’s no place open to ask, but at last he find the right street. Then, the right house. He cuts the engine and more than the bike comes to a halt. He feels shockingly, disturbingly blank. He’s felt it before and it’s precipitous; not good. With a deep breath, he kicks down the stand, pockets the keys. Shara stands next to him, looking very small in her prison jumpsuit, staring at the house at 2916 Santa Clara with big dark eyes. Gently, he pulls her elbow in the direction of the door but she doesn’t budge.

“I haven’t seen Kes in ten years,” she croaks. “And now I’m coming home without our son.” She looks up at him. There are no more tears for her to shed, just fatigue. Apprehension. Despair. “Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?”

Finn clenches his teeth and tightens his grip on her elbow. “There’s nothing he needs to forgive you for. None of this is your fault and Poe’s going to meet us later.”

It’s hard to keep repeating it when he’s so uncertain, but he can’t give up hope. He refuses to. For her and for himself. Distantly, he thinks Shara Bey may have felt the same, once upon a time. But years of First Order detention and who knows how much government experimentation have sucked part of that from her. What hope she holds now is small, fragile. Still. Finn sees more of Poe in her. An iron resolve to see something through, a refusal to break in the storm, when she says, “I hope you’re right,” and mimics him with a deep breath. Squares her shoulders and takes a step.

She knocks, a strange rhythmic pattern Finn vaguely thinks may be a code, and they wait. It takes a few minutes. Shara shifts nervously. Someone’s coming to the door. It opens a crack, then the rest of the way, revealing someone Poe resembles in the line of his jaw and the curl of his hands. The moment tenses, and all Finn can do is watch the two staring at each other.

Then, it breaks, and Kes surges forward. Finn can already see tears in the corners of his eyes and he wraps Shara so tightly in his arms. Surely there’s no way she doesn’t know he’ll forgive her anything. He can’t watch anymore, his chest feels too tight. So, he turns. And the rest that follows runs together in his exhaustion.

Kes brings them inside, clutching Shara’s hand even when she’s safely over the threshold. They sit at the kitchen table, but the chair left feels particularly empty. Finn keeps his side short; there’s no reason for them to be burdened with more than they need to be right now. Shara shares her story and Finn’s skin nearly turns inside out. She _had_ been sent to investigate the facility, just as Poe said. When the reasons for her visit were exposed, she was detained and shuffled away as part of the _project_. The files tucked safely in Poe satchel barely scratched the surface on the depth of her experience. Drug experimentation, psychological manipulation, almost too much to be believed. _Jesus, that woman is going to need so much help,_ he thinks distantly. _I probably will._ But, Finn’s admiration for her grows; she never revealed who sent her, thus maintaining an in. An ace. Someone named Senator Organa, who could take the testimony, the evidence, _everything_ to the right people. 

Then, they come to Poe. Shara can’t speak. Kes looks to him and all Finn deigns to say is, “He said he’ll find us here.”

And that seems to be enough.

Kes’ face is hard but he says, “Of course he will,” like he really believes it and leads Finn to the spare bedroom.

The sun is starting to rise as he settles on the bed, scorching the sky torrid orange and hopeful pink. His eyes feel full to the brim with sand, but still he watches. He thinks about the last morning, warm in Poe’s bed. He tries to wait, he _wants_ to wait so badly, to be awake when Poe comes back.

Despite all that want, sleep steals in.

—

Poe’s not back.

Waiting was so much easier when he was asleep. Kes and Shara sit together in the kitchen when he finally wakes hours later. It’s gone 4:00, closer to 5 at this point. Shara is wearing something loose and soft, and she looks a little more like the woman Finn sees in the photos on the walls. Kes offers him something to eat but his stomach feels too tight to swallow. He tries to sit in the kitchen with them, but there’s no words to be said. He tries to wait in the living room, but the pictures of Poe and his family do nothing but make his mind spin. At last, he lets himself out of the house and settles on the front porch.

Finn decides, at that moment, that if Poe isn’t back by morning, he’s going to find him. He has to. It hardens in his gut, and it terrifies him a bit. But there’s no question. There’s an in, provided they haven’t boarded it up. He can’t pick locks like Poe but maybe some bolt cutters wouldn’t go amiss. While the very real possibility of capture hangs over his head, there’s no way he’d leave Poe there. Finn sighs, pinches his brow. There’s no headache there anymore but it’s an old habit. He’s still expecting one, and that fucks with him more than he thought. His grip of composure feels tenuous; he drops into the deck chair.

_Patience_ , he reminds himself.

Kes has chairs like Poe’s. They’re a good, solid wood, painted in happy colors. Down the street, Finn hears kids laughing and playing. It all feels surreal, incongruous to the weight growing in his chest as the time drag on. At some point later, Shara comes out. Wordlessly, she sets a glass of lemonade on the table beside him, crosses her arms as she stands.

“I think—” Her voice cracks and she has to try again. “I think I’m going to sleep. Or try to. You’re a military man, you know the odds just as well as I do. I need you to watch for him.”

Finn frowns and glances up. He knows for certain he didn’t say anything so how did—

“I remember you,” Shara smiles sadly. “Barely. I remember you passing by my cell as a guard. Then again as a prisoner. Something about your face…”

She trails off. Finn’s blindsided. Never in a million years did he think something like that would have survived in her memory. But before he can ask about it, she says, “You know the odds. But I also know if my son trusted you, then you still have the same hope I do. So. Keep the watch.”

Finn’s throat feels tight and all he can do is nod. That seems to satisfy her and with an answering dip of her head, she turns and retreats back inside. Finn’s not sure what to do with himself after that. He stands and paces. Sits, watching the street with a detached sort of feeling. He takes a turn around the edge of the house. Then another. Kes’ back yard looks inviting, soft outdoor chairs nestled beneath a tree. But it doesn’t face the road and he can’t bring himself to sit there. Evening fades into darkness, sun dying behind the horizon. Back on the front porch, his stomach growls. He sighs, a dark cloud coalescing in his chest. Before he can dwell on it too long, Kes steps out, a bowl in his hand. Finn smiles inwardly; it’s very clear where Poe’s altruistic nature originates.

“Hope you’re not allergic to spice.”

The smell of tomato and buttery, toasted bread wafts Finn’s way as Kes settles beside him. Finn quirks an eyebrow at the meal but accepts it gratefully.

“It’s one of Poe’s favorite,” Kes smiles. “Never grew out of a good tortilla soup.”

Finn takes a bite, wonderfully surprised. It’s spicy, a rich tomato base swimming with chicken, corns, beans. He’s definitely starving now. “I can see why.”

“How do you know Poe?” Kes asks easily, as if Poe were just out shopping. “Can’t say he’s ever mentioned a Finn.”

The light conversation throws him a bit. Kes is unbelievably calm, there’s no outward show show of any anxiety swimming beneath him. It makes him think of Poe, and that same sure edge. He settles the spoon back in his bowl, looking Kes over with a cautious eye.

“I met him about a week ago,” Finn hedges. “My bike broke down, he was helping me fix it.”

Kes raises an eyebrow. “And that’s enough to get you to infiltrate an army base and save a woman you’ve never met?”

Finn freezes as Kes levels him a probing look. “I told you why I was there. It was as much for me as it was for her.” That doesn’t feel quite right. He amends, “I’m glad we found her, that we were able to find what we did. It was the right thing to do.”

“It was,” Kes nods sagely. “I’ll never be able to tell you how grateful I am. You gave me someone I never thought I’d see again, brought her back from the dead. But it doesn’t explain why you’ve been pacing out here for hours like a caged tiger. You’re as worried about Poe as I am, and you don’t even know him.”

It’s blunt, and it makes Finn wince inwardly. He swallows, not sure how much to divulge. Too much might get him thrown out, who knows. On a whim, he decides to just go head-first. Kes seems like a man that values honesty.

“I’d like to,” Finn says. “What I know of him already is enough to keep me around for a long time. I want to know out the rest.” His throat feels tight. He wants to tell Kes he’ll get Poe back, but there’s no way to share his foolhardy plan without dragging Kes and Shara along with him. If he did, if he brought Shara back to that place, Poe might never forgive him. So instead, he swallows hard and says, “I want him back.”

It’s an oblique admission, but Kes seems to understand what he’s getting at. He hums, clapping a firm hand twice on Finn’s shoulder as he gets to his feet.

“Why don’t you go in? Get some rest. Spare bed’s still there. You’re welcome to it.”

A tightness eases from Finn’s shoulders but he shakes his head. “All respect, I’ll wait here for now. You stay with Shara, I’m sure she needs you.”

Kes looks him over, pensive. “Then I’ll stay with Shara,” he repeats. “When he gets here—”

Finn nods, a silent agreement. They’ll know. And that’s that. The screen door jangles shut behind him and Finn is alone again. He finishes his soup in the quiet evening. The murmur of the town has died down, so much so that he can hear distant tolling of church bells, sounding the eleventh hour. Appropriate, for how he’s feeling. Streetlights flicker, pooling orange, not quite overpowering bright moonlight. At some point, the arid winter chill sets so deep in his bones he barely can move his fingers. He dips inside, digging around the living room for a blanket before heading out to resume his post. He couldn’t have been inside more than a few minutes when he hears a rumble come up the street. The noise just passes the house, stops. Whoever’s driving cuts the engine, a jangle of metal tinkling in its wake, what sounds like a dog’s soft _whoof_. His heart leaps, it sounds familiar. Without thinking, he drops the quilt he’s found and dashes out the door.

He freezes. There, halfway up the walk to the house, BB-8 hot on his heels, is—

“Poe.”

A tired, roguish smile breaks over Poe’s face—“Hey, buddy”—and Finn’s rushing down the porch steps. They stumble together, a rush of heat in the chill air, so hard it pushes Poe’s feet several steps back and a chuckle out of his throat. His uninjured arm circles around Finn’s back, fists tight in his jacket, Finn’s face buried in Poe’s neck. He’s here, _he’s alive_ , warm and solid, smelling a little like his shop, a little like sweat and blood. There’s too many place Finn wants to put his hands; he can’t decide. Poe decides for him. He leans in so Finn’s fingers have to settle at the small of his back, and before Finn can register anything more than sharp, poignant relief, Poe kisses him again. _Oh_. Finn’s chest soars. This is nothing like before. This is _so much better._ He can’t help himself, the slide and heat of Poe’s mouth strumming a light, bright chord in him, and Finn kisses him stupid right there in the street.

Poe leans back, but not far, his nose brushing Finn’s and forehead touching as Finn’s emotions settle somewhere in the stratosphere. “Told you it wasn’t goodbye,” Poe murmurs.

Finn has to chuckle at that, shuffling in to hold him tight. “Yeah. You did.” When his senses finally even out, he asks, “How did you get away? I heard the guns, I thought—”

He can’t finish. Poe shrugs and makes nonchalant face, like Finn’d just asked about the weather. “Hiding worked for a while. Charming worked for about a minute. Then we got into what I’d called ‘aggressive negotiations.’ With a pry bar.”

Finn’s stunned, can’t help but laugh, incredulous. “With a pry bar?”

“With a pry bar,” Poe repeats.

It’s not a lot. There’s got to be more to the story. But, it’s enough for now. Finn sighs, content, finally deigns to let Poe go and take a good look at him. He’s bruised, dirty. Arm is still bloody, should probably see a hospital. _But, he’s here._

“C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let’s go in. Get you cleaned up.”

Poe smiles again, a small, sincere thing. “You gonna stick around for a bit?”

“It’s gonna take a lot to get rid of me now. There’s more left to do. Besides—” Finn squeezes his hand before leading him up the stairs. “You promised it’s not goodbye.”

* * *

**Epilogue**

_Roswell, 1977_

_Three Years Later_

The dishes are glaring at him. Literally glaring. A sunbeam from the skylight reflects off some silverware, positioned haphazardly in a stack of plates. Finn rubs his eyes, blinking hard to get the sleep out of his eyes. He’ll move it, eventually. Gotta get the coffee on first. He grinds some fresh beans, not worrying about the noise. And he flips on the radio because the house just sounds empty without it, _Easy_ coming in soft. They should both be out of bed by now, anyway. The smell of coffee starts drifting through the air and settles as a content feeling in his chest. Better to be content than worrying. It’s all going to go fine, anyway. He passes by the sink, flips the silverware out of the sun on his way to the fridge. Eggs and bacon for breakfast, he decides. They’ll need the energy.

He pours himself a cup before mixing a second as breakfast fries.The toilet flushes down the hall, followed by the sink, so the cup’s owner is just minutes away. Finn smiles, turning his attention to the stovetop. He hears soft footsteps behind him, just before a set of arms circle his waist.

“Have I told you I love you yet today?”

Finn scoffs, but it’s with a smile. Poe’s voice is sleep-ragged, with a little whine. It’s way earlier than he’d normally be up and he’s sounds just a bit pathetic. Finn grins, tilts his head back, knocks into Poe’s gently. “You just got conscious and I don’t remember you talking in your sleep, so no.”

Poe chuckles weakly, burying his face between Finn’s shoulders as he flips the bacon. 

“There’s coffee on the counter,” he says, and that gets him a groan. He laughs, scooting Poe back with a shove of his hips. “Go on, go get some before we have to leave. I don’t want to drag you through an airport semi-conscious.”

Poe hisses at the maneuver, bites his back, careful of his scar in a teasing way that’s almost too close to business. “That’s not the only thing I’m gonna get if you’re not careful.”

Finn rolls his eyes but turns just enough to peck a kiss near Poe’s temple. “You should’ve got up earlier.”

Poe huffs into his back but finally disentangles himself. He settles at the kitchen bar, bare-chested and sleep-warm still. By the time he finishes his first cup, breakfast is ready, and Finn plates a heaping portion of egg and bacon for Poe and for himself. He doesn’t sit though, nervous energy creeping in, so he stands across the counter. 

“I still don’t know how you’re such a morning person,” Poe grouses between bites of egg. “It’s unnatural.”

Finn just chuckles. “Old habits.”

The mood sombers a bit. Poe reaches across the bar, hand up in an inviting way. Finn sets his plate down, lacing his fingers with Poe’s in a tender motion.

“You gonna be alright?”

Finn purses his lips but nods firmly, eyes flicker to the scar on Poe’s arm. “As long as this Church Committee does what they say they’re going to do.”

Poe squeezes his hand, shrugs a little helplessly, but it makes Finn feel better. “Leia says this is our best shot at getting the news out. They’ve already shut down most of the project. She wouldn’t ask you to come talk if she didn’t think it would help.”

“Your mom, too,” he reminds. “Her testimony is gonna do a lot more than mine. You think she’s up for it?”

“I think so. My dad’s comin’, of course, so that’ll help.”

Finn’s chest gets a little tight but he lets go of Poe’s hand, if only to finish his breakfast. Definitely not to hide the little tremor sneaking through him. Having Poe come along is doing more for his sanity than he’d like to admit but reliving the whole experience again for the record is no easy task. Maybe it'll give him some of that closure his shrink talked about.

“Thanks for going with,” he murmurs.

Poe finishes his bacon with a look of surprise. “What, like I wouldn’t? C’mon.”

His tone makes Finn smile. It helps. “Still. Thanks...”

Poe smiles back, leans across the bar for a kiss. It’s not searing, it’s reassuring. A reminder, an invitation, just like his open palm. It makes something flutter in Finn’s chest anyway.

“We go together, right?”

“Together,” Finn echoes.

It almost makes him laugh. Just goes to show they’re both very bad at saying goodbye. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you made it through that cheesy ending, thanks for tagging along for my 50th fic! this was super fun and i hope you enjoyed :) and hey, if you liked the story, share it around lol
> 
> thanks again to gmariam for all the feedback and finnpoe-wizard for the prompt
> 
> if you haven't ever read about MKUltra, go check that shit out it's fuckin nuts https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_MKUltra
> 
> here's a playlist of songs that inspired this, some are mentioned in the fic. go check it out bc early 70s slaps yall https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL2sTQpF-Bo9JtJtKNtJyRDCAHqN_BrQKr


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